


Cloudbank

by MercuryPilgrim



Series: For the Sky [9]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Alien Invasion, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Corporate, Alternate Universe - Crime, Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Noir, Alternate Universe - OT3, Alternate Universe - Parents, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate Universe - Thieves, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Western, Alternate Universe: Darkside, Alternate universe - Mafia, Anxiety Attacks, Big sads, Blood, Companionable Snark, Companionable assholery, Complicated Relationships, Consensual Kink, Cute, Dark, Depression, Dom/sub, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Fluffy Smut, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, It gets him in trouble, It's an AU collection cause it's fucking GOLD, Kinda Crackish, Kink Exploration, M/M, Magazine Article Style, Meet-Cute, Meet-Weird, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Praise Kink, Quinn makes for a brilliant catty assistant, Quinn's sense of humour is buried under ten tons of issues, Rivals, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sexy Daddy Ven, Smut, Smut and Fluff, Space Pirates, The real darkness is despair, They're inevitable in any universe, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unhealthy Relationships, Unstable Character, Vampire's being creepy, Ven is THORSTY, Ven thinks with his dick, Violence, With A Twist, no force, smutty fluff, theron shan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-02-23 10:17:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 167,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23476666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryPilgrim/pseuds/MercuryPilgrim
Summary: The only thing that seems to stay the same is that they're inevitable in any universe.A collection of alphabetical AUs, all focusing on the relationship between Quinn and the Wrath.
Relationships: Malavai Quinn/Male Sith Warrior
Series: For the Sky [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1244819
Comments: 311
Kudos: 76





	1. Alien invasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ‘invasion’ is less of a fleet of warships and more of one man getting a bit lost while on a sightseeing trip.

This was, Malavai decided, some serious bullshit.

During his long and mostly classified military career, he had been dragged out of bed for a great many reasons, none of which had managed to be a stupid as ‘ _aliens'_.

The lieutenant that was escorting him looked spooked and nervous, but Malavai didn’t feel any need to put him at ease.

If he hadn’t been allowed the time to grab a coffee on the way, no one should be surprised that he was unpleasant to be around.

The night was cool and pleasant, the summer heat long gone from the air at this hour of the morning.

His boots crunched some stray gravel as he walked, enlisted and officers alike skirting around him to avoid his ire.

He bet they didn’t have to be one up a fuck-o'clock in the morning in the middle of their sleep by some knock-kneed lieutenant who whispered the word ‘aliens' at him like that was supposed to _mean_ something.

He went where he was directed, and found himself on the far side of the complex, well away from the regular day-to-day of the base.

Here, people were grim and quiet and they didn’t seem to notice his glare.

He passed what seemed like a thousand security checkpoints, each one handled by a hawk-eyed officer that didn’t smile.

Finally, he entered the final security barrier. A decontamination room lay beyond, and he stared.

De-con?

Really?

Long haven given up trying to figure out why the military did anything, be went through the motions of showing his ID and scanning his fingerprint, before heading into decontamination.

The nervous lieutenant did not accompany him.

That was fine.

Preferable, even.

When he finally stepped out on the other side of the de-con room, he found himself in what could only be described as a viewing room. The shutter was down, and the room was tense and quiet.

He scanned the room and saluted his superiors, who barely spared him a glance. He must have been on the list of ‘people we have to have in these meetings’ because he really had no idea what he was doing there, let alone what they expected him to _do._

He still wasn’t convinced this wasn’t a really elaborate practical joke or that he was still dreaming.

“At twenty one seventeen yesterday, a cosmic event was recorded by the monitoring station on the ISS.” The colonel intoned seriously; his eyes flinty as he surveyed the room.

Malavai was the most junior officer there, and as a Major, that wasn’t something he was used to.

“Several minutes later, an unidentified object entered the upper atmosphere, before coming down one hundred and eighty-four kilometres off the coast of south west Norway.”

The colonel looked grim and tense and Malavai was getting the feeling that this might not actually be a joke.

This was _mad_.

“Recovery crews were dispatched and the object was recovered.”

The Norwegians just _let_ us have it too, Malavai mocked privately. More than likely, they had been told it was a ‘weather balloon' or some other such nonsense.

The colonel seemed to visibly age before their eyes.

“The object appeared to be some kind of pod, sealed and barely damaged from entry into our atmosphere. There were signs of life inside.”

He paused to let that sink in, or perhaps he was just hoping he himself would wake up and have this all be a dream.

“The pod was transported here, and testing began. At eleven hundred hours this morning and without warning, the seals unlocked and it opened.”

He looked deader than usual, and Malavai was trying to ignore the steady chant of ‘what the fuck, what the _fuck_ -‘ that echoed around his head.

The colonel drew himself up, gathering some vestige of strength from somewhere.

“Our theories proved correct. There was a life form inside. We currently have him- it- contained in this cell. It has not shown any signs of aggression, but has indicated that it is curious to know where it is and who we are.”

He seemed to be valiantly holding it together and Malavai appreciated that.

“The entity seems to have several mechanical implants. The technology appears far beyond anything that we can produce. We have not been able to ascertain their function.”

He seemed to take a deep breath.

“Any questions?”

Silence.

“Can we see it?” Came the question from a wide-eyed lieutenant colonel.

The colonel sighed, and tapped a button on the control panel to his right.

“Open the windows.” He ordered, and after a few seconds, the metal shutters began to roll back.

The room, if it could be called that, looked like an isolation cube used for those in strict quarantine.

It was clear and brightly lit, and the only furniture inside was a metal cot bolted to the concrete floor and a single chair.

Sitting on the chair back to front with his arms resting lazily on the back, was a person.

He was _green._

Malavai stared.

That was an alien.

Sitting there, looking bored, running one green skinned hand through dark curls, was an _alien._

From _space._

_What._

At the sound of the shutters finishing their roll back, the alien glanced up and, to their abject surprise, grinned at them.

It was hard to tell from where they were, but his eyes looked _yellow._

“Isn’t the glass tinted?” someone asked, staring.

The colonel nodded.

“It is. He can’t see us, but he seems to know someone is behind here.”

Malavai couldn’t stop staring.

Honestly, he had expected more tentacles or perhaps some scales or a sentient slug or whatever.

Not something that, for all intents and purposes, looked like a green human.

Several questions followed, but Malavai was only half paying attention.

The alien was resting his chin on his crossed arms, looking amused but bored.

There seemed to be designs on his face, but it was hard to tell if they were natural or not.

Suddenly, after what seemed like hours of questioning of the colonel from the assembled officers, the alien sighed and looked grumpy.

He opened his mouth and, to their shock, called out something in a language they didn’t recognise.

He looked bored and annoyed.

When he got no response, he frowned and called out again, looking frustrated when he got no response.

Inside the viewing room, everyone was tense and quiet, looking at the alien like he was about to explode.

“I think he's bored, sir.” Malavai said carefully, eyes on the green person currently resting his forehead on his arms in a very humanlike feature of defeat.

All eyes snapped to him, and he suddenly felt quite small. Lowest ranking person in the room, he reminded himself.

“How do you know that, major?” the colonel asked, suspicious.

Really? Malavai wanted to say, it’s _obvious._

“Well, his body language sir.” He said instead. “He’s already displayed some humanlike mannerisms like smiling, rolling his eyes and frowning, so I assume that the rest is similar too. He’s bored, and I think he wants to talk to someone.”

A moment of silence.

“Well volunteered, major.” The lieutenant colonel said with a slightly nervous smile, and Malavai blinked at him.

What- oh.

He hadn’t meant that _he_ wanted to go in there.

He set his jaw and saluted.

But he wasn’t going to let anyone else get this opportunity either.

“Open the door for me sir, and I'll go and talk to him.”

They stared at him.

“Someone has to, sir.” He said, his tone the verbal equivalent of a shrug.

So, that was how he found himself gingerly entering the large room where the cube was held.

The alien had perked up when the door had opened, and watched him with interest as he steadily made his way over.

It was like being watched by a really big cat.

Too soon, he was standing only a meter away from the perspex wall.

The alien regarded him with a small smile, and levered himself off the chair he had been lounging on.

He was tall and solid, and wearing some kind of silvery bodysuit that was so skin-tight it looked like it was painted on.

_Don’t look, don’t look, don’t-_

He looked.

Malavai hadn’t entertained many thoughts about aliens, and he certainly never thought he would describe one as _handsome._

Or that he would have to stop himself dragging his eyes over broad shoulders, the swell of arms and thighs and-

_No._

_Focus._

_Just because it’s now very obvious he has all the same parts as you do doesn’t mean you need to think about them._

_Or how big they are._

_No. Stop it._

He was about to say something when the alien beat him to it.

He said something in that strange language again, the worlds rolling and too fast for Malavai to pick up on.

Malavai shook his head.

“I don’t understand.” He said, and the alien frowned. He pointed to himself.

“Ven’fir.” he said slowly, smiling.

He had a nice smile, but those teeth looked _sharp_ _._

Malavai pointed to him and repeated his word, hoping it was a name.

The alien, Ven’fir, beamed at him.

Malavai pointed to himself, saying his own name slow and clear.

Ven’fir repeated the action of pointing to Malavai and saying his name, and wasn’t that something that shook his brain.

And alien knew his name. An alien was _saying_ his name in his strange, lilting accent.

He couldn’t help but smile.

The alien, Ven’fir, smiled back.

He made an odd, rolling gesture that Malavai was sure meant ‘keep going', but he wasn’t sure why.

Was he to keep talking? Why? About what?

The alien rolled his eyes and spoke again, this time pointing at Malavai and making the ‘go on' motion.

Malavai assumed that meant he was to talk. Perhaps Ven’fir wanted to hear more of their language?

So, he spoke.

For lack of anything better to say and cautious of mentioning anything classified or sensitive, he recited the field manual from the beginning.

He did, after all, know it off by heart.

The alien seemed to be concentrating on something, and Malavai watched him as he fiddled with a small metallic implant that sat behind his ear, curving around slightly to sit a few centimetres over his jaw.

It was silver and tiny, and Malavai couldn’t begin to guess its function.

Suddenly, after a few minutes of Malavai awkwardly reciting his field manual, the alien held up a hand and beamed at him.

“Well, that was a thrilling topic you chose.” Ven’fir said dryly and suddenly Malavai was aware his jaw was hanging open like a fish.

“You can speak English?” he asked dumbly, staring.

The green man looked at him like he was an idiot.

“Obviously not.” He drawled, his accent very close to Malavai's own, but with an undercurrent of something lilting and exotic that made his words pleasant to the ear. He tapped the little silver thing at his ear.

“Translation implant,” he said like it was obvious. “I had English on here already, but the stupid thing got knocked around during the crash. I needed to hear some talking to reanalyse the sample and get it working again. Thanks for being my test subject.” He said with a grin.

Malavai's brain was _this_ close to exploding.

“I uh, your name is Ven’fir, right?” he asked, wanting to be sure.

The alien nodded.

“It is. Your name is Malavai, yes? We gathered that from all the pointing earlier.” He smirked, and his eyes were a little too intense of Malavai's comfort.

“So, what are you going to do with me?” he asked. “I do hope it's nothing painful. I've heard about planets like yours and I don’t wish to end up on an operating table.” He made a face. “I would end up as a documentary in ten cycles and that would just be _embarrassing.”_

Right, Malavai just needed to... process that sentence.

“I don’t know.” He said carefully. “I don’t make the decisions around here.”

He frowned.

“Oh. Who does, then? I would like to negotiate my getting out of this stupid cube if possible. I didn’t _mean_ to end up on your charming little backwater mud ball, but I might as well make friends while I’m here.”

He smirked, and Malavai suddenly felt like he was about to be eaten.

“Besides, I want to see if the rest of your species are as cute as you.”

Malavai felt his face heat up and he _knew_ his cheeks were turning bright pink as he struggled to find something to say to that.

Ven’fir stared at him, eyes wide.

“What is _that_?” he asked, peering at him with interest. “Your skin is- it's changing colour! Is that a threat display or something? Are you trying to blend into your surroundings? You’re not doing a very good job.”

Malavai was sure his face was now _glowing._

“Uh, no.” He managed, attempting to pick up the shreds of his dignity. “It’s a blush. It’s involuntary. Humans do it when... when we're embarrassed or um, excited. Or when we overheat.”

Ven’fir looked fascinated.

“And you all do this?”

“Some more than others.” Malavai muttered, embarrassed. “It's caused by increased capillary blood flow in the skin. I’m rather pale, so it’s more obvious on me.” He explained, trying to sound professional.

It was difficult, when the alien was looking inquisitively, like he wanted to reach out and touch him.

Ven’fir looked sly.

It looked natural on his face.

“So, embarrassed or excited, yes? Unless we feel temperature very differently, you can’t be overheating...” he smirked, and Malavai envied his seemingly boundless confidence. “Which is it? Do I embarrass or excite you?”

Malavai felt his cheeks heat again and cursed them. He was a professional, dammit.

“Perhaps a little of both,” he muttered under his breath, but Ven’fir’s grin widened anyway, showing off those impressive double canines.

“So,” he began carefully, aware of his superior’s eyes on him. “How did you come to crash here?”

Ven’fir huffed.

“Came to sightsee and got my numbers wrong. I came in way too fast and had to eject my pod.” He pouted. “It's embarrassing.”

Malavai tilted his head.

“You came to Earth to... sightsee?” he asked, barely believing his ears.

Ven’fir nodded.

“Yep. I wasn’t planning on _landing_ , obviously, there are laws against that kind of thing for a reason, but sometimes it’s fun to loiter in your upper atmosphere and tune in to your communications. You guys are really loud, but you have the _best_ shows, I swear. I like your nature documentaries the best.” He smiled, boyish and excited. “I can’t believe I get to meet one of you! The people in the funny suits came in but I didn’t get to talk to any of them so they don’t count.”

Malavai blinked at the deluge of information dropped on him by the excitable alien.

Earth was considered a tourist attraction?

He wasn’t quite sure how to process that, so he decided not to.

“Okay.” He said instead, feeling a little untethered. “So, you’re... not here to invade us or anything?”

He felt a little stupid asking the question, but he also felt like this needed clarifying.

Ven’fir looked baffled.

“No? No offense, but why would anyone bother to invade you?” he shrugged. “You’re interesting and all, but you haven’t even managed spaceflight yet.”

Malavai frowned.

“We have. We made it to the moon.” He argued.

Ven’fir's expression was somewhat condescending.

“The moon. Right. That's... really not very far.” He admitted. “That's like... your front step. You’re out of the house, but not even out of your front yard yet.”

Malavai digested this.

“Oh. Well, where do you come from then?” he asked, curious. This was what he was really interested in.

Ven’fir grinned brightly, and Malavai got the feeling that he wasn’t going to waking up from this dream any time soon.

* * *

Days passed. Then months.

Malavai had almost been kicked off the team to make way for someone more important, but Ven’fir had thrown up such a fuss when Malavai had stopped visiting that he found himself once again on the company of the green alien.

Ven’fir was out of the cube and now holed up in what could best be described as a hastily assembled hotel room inside where his cube had previously been.

He didn’t seem very bothered about behind confined if he was kept entertained, and Malavai suspected that he was _allowing_ himself to be kept for the novelty.

He read all the books that they gave him with voracious interest, talked everyone’s ears off about _anything,_ and generally gave Malavai confusing feelings every time he saw him.

Well, that was a lie.

The feelings were not confusing. Malavai knew perfectly well that he had a crush on the ridiculous man behind the security doors, and that, when his eyes lingered on firm muscles and pretty eyes and an _incredibly_ distracting bulge, Ven’fir seemed to be looking at him, too.

God, he was a mess.

He was having a gay crisis over an honest to god _alien_ that he was supposed to be reporting back on but he couldn’t bring himself to mention how Ven’fir's eyes crinkled when he laughed or how he smiled softly when he thought Malavai wasn’t looking and _fuck._

The crisis wasn’t even really gay crisis, since he was fully aware that he was bisexual, and had been since he had cracked open a magazine on male swimsuit models when he was fifteen and had the overwhelming feeling of ‘ _yes please'_.

So, the crisis wasn’t even really over the ‘gay' part.

It was the ‘ _we are literally different species’_ part.

What if alien sex was _weird?_

What if Ven’fir wasn’t even flirting with him at all?

What if that impressive looking bulge was actually a redundant third arm or something equally off putting?

... What if alien come was toxic to humans?!

Oh god, he was going to die because he wanted to fuck an alien.

Documentaries would be done on him. He would go down in the history books as the first man who died from inter-species sex.

They would _autopsy_ him.

He would traumatise Ven’fir if he dropped dead mid screw.

It wasn’t enough to get him to stop, though.

They flirted.

They talked.

Malavai fell a little bit more in love every day.

And then one morning, Ven’fir wasn’t there anymore.

Malavai walked into chaos, and something like emptiness followed when he learned that the alien they had been keeping had vanished as if he had never been there at all.

The room was as he had left it, half read books and a stack of DVDs ready to play, but the man was gone.

Malavai finished his sudden double shift with hurt in his belly and something like anger in his heart.

He had been stupid.

Of course, Ven’fir would have to leave.

Malavai had known this and had chosen to ignore how their guest had a life outside of the room they kept him in.

He was angry with himself for setting himself up for hurt.

He woke up the next morning to a meeting to tell him he was suspended from active duty with immediate effect.

It wasn’t said, but they thought he had done it.

They thought Malavai had helped Ven’fir escape.

He argued, got shouted at, and was promptly escorted off base with his things in a duffel bag.

He went back to his hometown, slept around an old friend’s house for a few days until he could get his own house ready to live in again, before settling down to do nothing but be angry at the world for the foreseeable future.

Thankfully, Jaesa had been very understanding.

Two weeks later, Malavai woke up to a noise in his kitchen and immediately assumed he was being burgled.

He padded down the stairs, wondering what kind of incompetent burglar would be so _loud_ , and promptly tackled the figure inspecting his fruit bowl.

It wasn’t a burglar.

At least, he was fairly sure that shade of green wasn’t present on _anyone_ else on Earth.

He blinked down at the man underneath him, who looked quite surprised and rather pleased.

“Take me to your leader?” Ven’fir said winningly, smiling hopefully up at him.

Malavai stared at him.

“I... what?” he managed. “You _left._ Why are you in my house?”

Ven’fir somehow managed to shrug even as Malavai continued to pin him.

“I got bored and I wanted to leave. So I did.” He said like it was obvious. He softened. “But I didn’t want to leave without seeing you.”

Oh. That... that made him feel _warm_.

“Why?” Malavai demanded, angry. “Why bother? You’re just going to leave again.”

Ven’fir blinked up at him.

“Well, I was going to ask you if you would like to join me, actually.”

Okay, now Malavai really was dreaming.

Seeing his speechlessness, Ven’fir took pity on him.

“I want you to come with me,” he murmured, amber eyes soft. “I like you, you funny little creature.”

That snapped Malavai back into reality.

“I’m not a ‘funny little creature'.” He protested.

Ven’fir looked fond.

“Yeah, you are. But I like you anyway.” He smiled. “And I want you to come and travel with me.”

Malavai swallowed.

“That's quite the offer.” He said carefully, relaxing his hold. Now he was straddling the other man, awkward and insecure as he looked down at him. “I... I can’t just _leave._ ”

Ven’fir gazed up at him.

“Well, I was hoping we could stay on Earth for a bit before heading off.” He admitted. “And I have no intention of doing anything but you for the next few days.”

Malavai wasn’t sure he had heard right.

“Uh, did you mean-"

Without waiting for him to finish, Ven’fir just sighed and dragged him down for a kiss.

Startled, Malavai felt himself tense up before strong arms wrapped around him and held him close.

He relaxed into it, easing into the kiss like it was a warm bath after a long day.

Ven’fir was warm. He was _very_ warm.

Also, kisses seemed to be the same as he was used to, which was nice.

Feeling giddy and a little heat-drunk, he pressed closer and let himself melt into the affection.

Ven’fir was clearly enjoying himself as much as Malavai was, and they stayed like that for who knew how long, laying on the cold kitchen floor.

Eventually though, they pulled away.

Malavai didn’t want to stray far, not that he could with Ven’fir holding him flush on top of him, his hands resting on Malavai's waist.

He could feel every inch of his body through that ridiculous suit, and it was _very_ distracting.

“So,” he murmured, eyes straying to Ven’fir's mouth as he did so, “You wanted to stay for a few days?”

Ven’fir grinned, shifting his hips just enough to make Malavai sure he was being a tease.

“I think I’ll have more fun with you than with your bosses.” He teased.

Malavai shrugged, smiling.

“They pretty much fired me anyway.” He admitted. “They think I let you go.”

Ven’fir's expression turned to surprise.

“Oh. I didn’t mean for that to happen.” He muttered, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

Malavai shook his head.

“Between my dead career in the military and travelling space with you? There’s no choice there.”

The green man looked hopeful. “So, you want to come with me?” he asked, eyes bright.

They were amber in the gloom, a faint sheen to them that made him look otherworldly.

Which, Malavai reminded himself, he was.

He nodded.

“Yes.” He said, giddy and smiling. “I want to come with you.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Ven’fir's smile, feeling heat pool in his belly.

“Well,” the alien murmured when they finally parted, “Shall we go and explore a little?” he looked sly, and Malavai was reminded of when they had first met. “Each other, I mean. Unless _this_ means something different to you than it does to me,” he paused, grinding his hips upward and making Malavai see stars even as he blushed. “I think that means you’re definitely up for little inter-species exploration.”

He paused.

“Besides, I want to see what you look like naked, and if that blush goes down as far as I hope it does.”

Well, if he liked how humans blushed, he'd picked well in Malavai.

He felt his cheeks heat at the attention, and Ven’fir made a delighted noise.

Wondrous, he reached out and ran a fingertip over Malavai's fuchsia cheeks.

“You’re warmer,” he muttered, amazed. “It’s like little patches of adorable heat.” He beamed; eyes bright. “Stars, you’re so _cute_.”

Malavai frowned at him.

He wasn’t cute. He was a grown man, and a soldier at that.

“I am not cute,” he grumbled, but with how Ven’fir grinned at him, he hadn’t been very convincing.

“You are. You’re the cutest alien I’ve ever met.”

He paused. “Okay, nexu kittens are cuter. You’re the cutest alien I’ve ever met that I wanted to fuck.” He corrected, pleased with himself.

This man was ridiculous.

Malavai melted a little more.

“Well, you’re the first alien I ever met,” he said with a smile.

Ven’fir smirked at him.

“I knew you wanted me from the moment you saw me,” he teased, moving a hand lazily up and down Malavai's side. His sleeping shirt was soft and stretchy, and Ven’fir had slipped his hands under it. His hands were rough and warm, and Malavai shivered under his touch.

Malavai flushed, embarrassed.

“Well, you’re wearing that ridiculously tight suit.” He defended himself, indignant. “And you were standing there all... all attractive and you kept flirting with me!”

Ven’fir just laughed and kissed him again, quick and sweet.

“Come on, I want to see if you’ll enjoy what I want to do to you.” He paused. “Hang on, do humans usually fuck in beds? Or is the floor more appropriate? Oh! Do you do it against the wall? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He admitted, chewing his lip.

Malavai couldn’t help it and laughed.

He pressed close, loving the warmth that seeped through his clothing.

“Bed first,” he murmured, staying close. He felt Ven’fir hitch a breath and felt a bloom of pride. He shifted his hips on purpose, feeling the thrill of excitement prickle over his skin.

“And then we can see about the wall."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ven'fir can't help but be himself, no matter what universe he's in.
> 
> Malavai can only look on, fondly exasperated.


	2. All human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ven’fir is a celebrity, and Malavai is his catty assistant.

“He's not available.”

“That's not _fair_ , I want to see him!”

Malavai felt his lip curl as he peered over the tops of his glasses at the young woman currently throwing a tantrum in front of him.

“Life's not fair, and _he_ doesn’t want to see _you_.” He responded coolly, his tablet in his hand and stylus poised.

She glared daggers at him, her cheeks blotchy with rage and upset, and her perfectly curled hair not moving an inch under the hairspray.

“How _dare_ you?” she gasped, and her voice got louder and louder. Malavai suppressed a wince. “Get out of my way you- you _assistant_. I’ll have you fired!”

He stared her down. He had it on good authority that his stare hadn’t lost potency since leaving the military, and he wasn’t afraid to use it now.

“Please, by my guest.” He said flatly, making a quick note on his tablet in response to a notification that flashed on the screen.

Interview in forty minutes. He needed to get Ven’fir ready for that.

“If there's nothing else?” he asked for politeness sake, already moving towards his desk.

“Don’t you walk away from me! I demand to see him, he’s my _boyfriend._ You can’t keep me out!”

Malavai gave her a cool, disdainful look.

“You’re not his girlfriend, you’re last week’s one-night stand.” He delivered the truth brutally, “He doesn’t want to see you, and I doubt he even remembers who you are.”

The woman, hurt by this, choked back tears and ran for the door.

She lost her battle with her tears halfway down the hallway, and Malavai ignored her fading sobs, tapping away on his tablet.

What a mess.

“Well, that was brutal of you.”

He glanced up, and spotted the man of the moment lounging against the door frame.

Malavai raised an eyebrow.

“Was it? She refused to leave.” He tilted his head, giving his employer the tiniest of smirks. “Unless you wanted me to let her through?”

Ven’fir shivered, an uncomfortable expression covering his face.

“Ugh, no. She wasn’t even a good fuck, honestly.” He shrugged, sashaying in to perch on the end of Malavai's desk. “Acted like a pornstar, all shrieking and weird dirty talk.”

“How intolerable for you.” Malavai drawled, not looking up. “You have an interview with Daily News in thirty-four minutes.”

“Live?”

Malavai scoffed.

“Of course not, or I wouldn’t have reminded you _now_. You wouldn’t have time for makeup.” He said primly.

Ven’fir shrugged, before leaning in with a smirk.

“So…”

Malavai glanced up, and drew back slightly at seeing his face so close. Ven’fir really was _gorgeous_ , but that smirk spelled trouble.

“Hearing you deal with her was hot.”

There it was.

“Was it?” he replied blandly, focusing on work. If he didn’t look up, he wouldn’t be reminded how attractive his employer was.

“Mmhmm.” Ven’fir smirked, grey eyes playful. “Yeah. You’re a real hardass.”

Malavai glanced up, eyebrow raised.

“I suppose so, which is why I haven’t quit yet.” He said as he adjusted his glasses. “Because I can handle you and your fans.”

“You can handle me any time.”

Malavai stood up and, ignoring his employer, gestured for him to move.

“Get off my desk, and get into some proper clothes. I’ve laid them out for you in your dressing room. Go, now.”

Ven’fir, pouting and reluctantly doing as he was told, slid off the desk to land of the pads of his feet.

“You’re so cold to me, Mal.”

“It's Malavai, and yes, I am.” He said without an ounce of pity. “Go.”

Ven’fir added some sway to his step as he did as he was told, crossing over to where his dressing room was located.

“I bet you’d scream for me in bed!” He called as he stepped inside, not bothering to close the door.

“That’s harassment.” Malavai called back flatly, refusing to look.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know what he would see, anyway.

Tempting expenses of firm muscle and tanned, inviting-

 _No_.

Ven’fir had made a career out of looking irresistibly good, but Malavai certainly wasn’t going to crack.

No, he was far too professional for that.

Besides, he liked his job, despite evidence to the contrary. He liked Ven’fir too, although their game was to pretend that he didn’t.

But he knew what his employer was like. A steady stream of one-night stands and inadvisable dalliances seemed to content him just fine, and Malavai wasn’t willing to give up his career and reputation for a single night of presumably mind-blowing sex.

And from what he had heard and I’m some cases _seen_ , the sex was pretty amazing.

He had beheld more than a few cases of shaky legs and dazed smiles in his time as personal assistant to Ven’fir Polaris, model, entrepreneur and general hell-raising celebrity.

Getting injured while on tour had hardly been the end of the world, but it _had_ been the end of a very significant part of his life. He _breathed_ the military, and not having that structure and familiarity had really messed him up, not to mention the months of getting back into physical shape after a severe injury. His eye still got sore and strained when he looked at his tablet for too long, and headaches were common. He had to wear glasses now.

Still, he did like the look on peoples when they asked him about the scars on his face and he told them it was from a grenade.

Therapy and friends had helped, as well as getting a new job. Jaesa had been a godsend, getting him back on his feet.

Sometimes literally.

Still, she had worked her magic and introduced him to someone who knew someone who owed a favour to so-and-so, and through a series of jobs, he had ended up interviewing to be a PA for _the_ Ven’fir Polaris.

Malavai didn’t care who he was.

He was a _brat._

He had, in fact, gone into that interview with attitude and expected to be thrown out halfway through, but Ven’fir seemed to like him.

He knew now that despite his narcissistic nature or massively inflated ego, Ven’fir liked people who could challenge him.

Not the argumentative ones, but people that could _keep up_ with him.

Malavai could definitely do that.

“Malavai! You didn’t leave me any socks!”

With a frown, he glanced up and immediately looked away as his cheeks went pink.

Ven’fir was clad only in his underwear that left very little to the imagination, and he was _posing._

He laughed, holding onto the door frame with how hard he was cackling.

He was such a little _shit._

Malavai raised his eyes to stare at Ven’fir's own, careful not to let his gaze wander to bronzed skin taut over sinful muscle. A little trail of hair ran from his belly button down to disappear under the hem of his boxer-briefs, and the tattoos on his arms stood stark black against his burnished skin.

“Hilarious.” Malavai dead panned. “You seem to forget I have seen you in pretty much every state of dress imaginable. Please put your clothes on.”

Still chuckling, Ven’fir retreated.

Malavai went back to his tablet.

Ven’fir had _no_ idea what he was poking.

Oh, the _things_ Malavai would do to that man.

Anyway.

Dressed and finally ready, Ven’fir emerged with ten minutes to spare before the reporter was due to arrive.

Malavai shook his head.

“How did you take so long? I laid your clothes out.” He muttered, glancing up.

The man looked sinful in jeans and a button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows and collar artfully undone. Then again, he looked sinful in just about anything.

Ven’fir shrugged. “Had to do my hair.”

Baffled, as his hair looked exactly the same as when he had gone into the dressing room, Malavai decided to let that one go.

As he briefed his employer on what he could expect from this interview, it was a minor one, and wouldn’t even be recorded in video, he could see Ven’fir’s attention span waning.

He wrapped it up, buzzed the reporter in, and they got down to business.

After a painless interview in which the interviewer flirted more than was strictly necessary, they switched off the equipment and the photographer got a few shots of Ven’fir looking artful and charmingly tousled in front of the big window that looked over the city.

“Ah, excuse me?”

Malavai blinked and turned, seeing the photographer, a petite woman who carried her tripod like it was a weapon.

“Can I help you?” he asked, and she gave him a confident grin.

“Yeah. I was wondering if you wanted to get a drink sometime?”

He blinked. Well, that was unexpected. He smiled, flattered. Maybe this was what he needed.

“That sounds lovely.” He murmured, a little shy. She had been pleasant to talk to and he liked her sense of humour. He held out a hand.

“Malavai Quinn.”

She beamed as she shook it, pink colouring her cheeks.

“I’m Cho Sun-hi.” She said with a dimpled grin. “I uh, I left my number on your desk. You know, in case I chickened out of asking you in person.” She chuckled.

Malavai could feel eyes on him, and glanced over to where Ven’fir was being flirted at by the reporter. He was staring at him, all but ignoring the reported desperately trying to get his attention.

He raised an eyebrow, silently asking what was wrong.

Ven’fir looked away quickly, and Malavai shook his head. Strange man.

He chatted with Sun-hi for a while until she went to peel her partner off a distracted looking Ven’fir.

She gave him a smile as she left, which he returned.

“You dog.”

Malavai sighed, fixing his smirking employer with a beady stare.

“She’s nice.” He defended. “And she asked me. I’m allowed to go on a date with someone.”

Ven’fir waved a hand.

“Obviously. I just never thought I would see the day.”

Malavai frowned. “I'm not a _recluse._ I don’t see why dating would be off limits for me.”

“Well, you never said yes to _me._ ”

“You don’t want to date me.” Malavai pointed out. “You want to have sex with me, and then have me fired afterwards.”

Ven’fir looked surprised. “No, I don’t.”

“You do. What happened to all your other assistants, then? You fucked them, and then you got rid of them.” He reminded. “So no, I haven’t said yes to you and I never will.”

He shrugged, standing and adjusting his glasses.

“Come on, we have lunch with Lana and Theron in an hour.”

* * *

Ven’fir was being weird with him.

Ven’fir being weird wasn’t particularly _unusual_ , as despite his public image as an uber-cool, rebellious celebrity, he was a rather strange person in real life.

Since he spent almost every waking moment with him, Malavai knew that more than most.

This was a different kind of weird, though. He would often catch Ven’fir staring off into space or studying him intently.

He had stopped teasing Malavai about falling into his bed, and he was oddly subdued.

He hadn’t even teased him when Malavai had mentioned that as nice as Sun-hi was, they had mutually decided to remain friends.

The steady stream of models and pop stars had dwindled to nothing, and Malavai hadn’t had to hand a pouting it-girl her clothes and show her the door in _weeks_.

Malavai was worried about him.

He was an awkward person, so attempting to talk to Ven’fir was challenging.

In the end, Malavai had had enough.

He spent two hours the previous day moving appointments and rearranging calls.

He headed into Ven’fir's office, where the man was sitting on his phone with a cup of something steaming in one hand.

He glanced up as Malavai entered, a smile forming on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he greeted. “Have I forgotten an appointment?”

Malavai came to a halt in front of his desk and stared him down. Poor Ven’fir looked a bit taken aback.

“You don’t have any more appointments. I moved them all.” He said frankly, and Ven’fir blinked at him.

“Oh. Uh, why?” he asked, and Malavai frowned at him.

“There’s something wrong with you and it worries me.” He said honestly. “I want to fix it.”

Ven’fir looked startled, and then fond, and then suddenly very sad.

Malavai didn’t know what to make of that.

“I’m okay, Malavai.” He murmured, aiming a smile his way. “I’m tired, that's all.”

“Bullshit.”

Ven’fir blinked, surprised.

Malavai softened.

“I'm worried about you.” He admitted gently, something curling in his gut. “I just want to help.”

Ven’fir sighed.

“I know you do.” He muttered, a fond smile on his lips. “It's just me being an idiot. I’m... I’m just figuring something out.” He shrugged. “Don’t mind me.”

Malavai frowned.

“I do, though. If you don’t want to tell me, I won’t pry.” He assured, “But... if I can help with anything, you’ll tell me?”

Ven’fir looked a little like he wanted to say something more, but just smiled.

“Yeah, of course.” He paused. “Thanks. You know, for being a good friend.”

Malavai felt warmth bloom in his chest, and he smiled, a little awkward. “I try.” He managed. “Take the rest of the day off, if you like. I cleared your calendar, after all.”

Ven’fir snorted. “Yes boss.”

Malavai flushed.

“I’m trying to be _nice.”_ He stressed, and Ven’fir laughed. It sounded more like the old him, and that was reassuring.

“Don’t be nice, it doesn’t suit you.” He smirked as he stood up and reached for his jacket. “I think I will take off for a bit and visit Vette. Thanks.”

He headed out, and Malavai sat back at his own desk, trying to focus.

He hoped Ven’fir was alright.

* * *

Ven’fir came back the next day almost back to his old self, which was a relief.

He flirted, he laughed and he was generally the terror he always was, but the one-night stands didn’t return.

Malavai was curious, but didn’t feel like prying. He kept quiet, and just enjoyed things being back to normal.

Ven’fir seemed to want to spend more time around him, which was impressive considering they already spent most of their lives glued together.

Still, the man came and sat with him for lunch and reminded Malavai to eat when he worked overtime, or insisted that he stop and take a break.

It was nice.

It was more than nice.

Malavai was in _danger._

He yawned as he sent the email he had been working on, and removing his glasses to rub at his eyes.

There was a gala tonight, and he was putting together the last of the bits and pieces they needed in order to prepare for it. Ven’fir was no doubt going to cause some trouble, but Malavai did want him to at least enjoy himself. Malavai had planned a quiet night in, but would have his phone on him at all times.

Just in case.

Ven’fir sidled in, and perched on the end of Malavai's desk.

He smiling winningly.

Malavai was instantly suspicious.

“What?” he added, prickly.

Ven’fir just grinned.

“The party tonight,” he began, and that did not alleviate Malavai’s growing sense of dread. “Come with me.”

He blinked.

“Excuse me?” he managed; not sure he had heard what he thought he had.

Ven’fir’s grin was warm and his grey eyes were bright.

“Come with me.” He repeated.

“Don’t you have a date?” Malavai asked, feeling his cheeks heat up. Stupid skin. “Who cancelled on you so late? Don’t worry, I’ll find someone to-"

He was reaching for his phone when Ven’fir stopped him, one big, warm hand covering his own.

“No one cancelled on me.” He said gently. “I want to go with _you_. Not as a stand in, not as my assistant, as my _date.”_

Oh.

_Oh._

“You’re _joking.”_

Ven’fir looked taken aback, but soon started laughing as he saw Malavai blanch at what had just come out of his mouth.

He hadn’t meant to say that.

He felt himself go bright red, and really rather wanted to die now, thank you.

Ven’fir looked very fond, his eyes soft.

“I’m not joking.” He murmured. “I really like you.”

Malavai swallowed hard, and clamped down on the giddy, pleasant feeling welling inside of him.

“Ven’fir-" he started, awkward. “You don’t _date_. And _I_ don’t do one-night stands.” He muttered, “I told you; I won’t be another notch in your bed post.”

It hurt, but it was true. He refused.

“I _can’t._ ” He stressed. “You don’t really want me. You’ll get bored of me in a week. It won’t matter for you, you’ll just get a new assistant, but I’ll lose my _job._ I’ll be the guy who slept with his boss and got fired.”

He wrung his hands, nausea filling his belly. “I don’t want to start from scratch again. I’m sorry.”

Ven’fir looked hurt.

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” He protested.

“You’ve done it to all the others.” Malavai pointed out, and Ven’fir winced.

“I know. I didn’t like them like I lov- like I like you though.” He whispered, a flush on his tanned cheeks. “I didn’t... I just wanted to sleep with them.” He glanced away, oddly shy. “With you... I like spending _time_ with you. I mean, I want to sleep with you too but- I don’t know. You’re _special_.”

He looked so tired and sad that Malavai felt his heart constrict.

“If... If you decide you don’t want to work with me any more, I’ll get you a job wherever you want.” He whispered, “The others... they tried to change me. They got clingy, tried to tell me I wasn’t allowed to see Vette or go anywhere without them.” He swallowed. “And I didn’t like that, so I got rid of them.”

Malavai was silent for a moment as he thought about his next words.

He wanted to say yes. He wanted to drag this ridiculous man down into a filthy kiss and pin him to the desk where he could whisper how much Malavai loved him as he made him scream.

He wanted to, but he couldn’t bear the thought of it all going wrong.

Seeing his expression, Ven’fir seemed to panic.

“Please, just try for little while?” he all but begged. “I promise if things don’t work, I won’t get rid of you and- and if you want to leave then I’ll get you whatever job you want-"

“I don’t _want_ another job,” Malavai interrupted with heat, “I want _this_ one. With _you_. I just- I _want_ to say yes.” He managed. “But I don’t want that to mean things change.”

Ven’fir shook his head.

“I don’t want anything to change either. I want to wake up with you in the morning and kiss you, and I want to come into the office as you tell me off for forgetting my appointments,” he said with a tearful smile. “I want you to keep arguing with me and being an absolute _asshole_ and giving rude interviewers that look that scares them off and- and after all that I want to go home with you and kiss you.” He murmured, and his look was so soft it took Malavai's breath away. “Just let me prove myself? Please?”

Malavai swallowed. “Don’t beg.” He said, trying to keep his voice firm. “I’m... I’m not a prize to be won. If I say yes, I want to be your partner, not just your boyfriend that you can leave at home.” He said sternly, regaining some sense of _something._

Ven’fir looked painfully hopeful. “I wouldn’t want you to be anything else.” He admitted. “So...”

Malavai took a breath, and took the plunge.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Yes, I’ll go with you.”

Ven’fir seemed so shocked he was frozen for a moment, as though he wasn’t sure what he had just heard.

Then, with the most blinding grin, he leapt off the desk with a laugh and punched the air like a dork.

Malavai, giddy and light, couldn’t help but laugh.

He stood up and crossed the space between them in three strides, before tugging Ven’fir in for a kiss.

Poor Ven’fir seemed surprised by the sudden affection, and wobbled slightly before regaining his footing and kissing back.

When they parted, his eyes were wide and he looked breathless.

“I’ve wanted to do that for ages,” Malavai admitted, blushing.

Ven’fir gave a slightly hysterical laugh, and rested his forehead against Malavai's.

“Me too.” He murmured. “Ever since that photographer asked you on a date.”

Malavai drew back, eyes wide.

“You _were_ jealous!” he accused, “I knew it!”

“I was _not_.” Ven’fir defended himself as they parted, terrible at lying as always. “I was just... interested!”

Malavai smirked.

“You were definitely jealous.” He teased, laughing when Ven’fir pulled him back into his arms. He was warm and solid and Malavai felt at home in his embrace.

“I wasn’t jealous.” He heard him mutter, and he laughed again, closing his eyes as he listened to Ven’fir’s heartbeat.

* * *

After having a minor freak out about the late notice of the invitation to the gala (during which Ven’fir laughed at him), Malavai had rooted around in his significant wardrobe to find something suitable. He wasn’t an ostentatious person by nature, but one of the perks of working so closely with the fashion industry was nice clothes.

A black suit was always classy, and he made sure to co-ordinate his with Ven’fir's. Ven’fir had looked amused as he had run around looking for complimentary cufflinks, but he was pleased with the result.

He was nervous.

He had no reason to be, he had been to these things a thousand times as Ven’fir’s assistant but... now he was his date.

It felt different.

For one, he would be walking down the carpet with Ven’fir, not meeting up with him once inside.

He took a breath and felt Ven’fir brush his fingertips over the back of his hand.

He didn’t say anything, which was a blessing, and that point of contact was more than comforting to Malavai.

They were in the car, Ven’fir’s driver giving them a knowing smirk as Ven’fir reached for Malavai’s hand.

Malavai had given him The Look™, and the man had gone very quiet.

Ven’fir had smirked knowingly at him, and Malavai hadn’t been able to stifle a mischievous grin.

He still had it.

The car waited in line to deliver them to the red carpet, and Ven’fir kept rubbing soothing, warm circles into the back of his hand.

They were next in line, and the car pulled up to the front of the building. He could see flashes and hear the low rumble of people, and he felt giddy. He wasn’t good in social situations that didn’t involve hurting someone’s feelings, but he could fake it with the best of them. Besides, this involved being petty and a little vindictive, and that just made it fun.

He smiled at Ven’fir, who, of course, looked positively stunning in his suit. He looked like he had walked out of a magazine cover and into real life, and Malavai felt a little plain next to him.

Ven’fir was all bronzed skin, playful grey eyes and boyish black curls. He was _perfect_ and _gorgeous_ and Malavai was pale and boring. And scarred.

Still, it wasn’t like many of those people hadn’t seen him before, just in a different context.

Ven’fir winked at him.

“Showtime.” He murmured, and Malavai steeled himself.

The door was opened for him and Ven’fir got out with an easy, handsome smile and the kind of feline grace that made him so popular.

The noise increased and the flashes went wild, and Malavai had to open his _own door_ because they assumed that he was only there to drop his employer at the door and leave.

Fuck that.

He opened the door himself and got out with somewhat less grace than Ven’fir had, but at least he didn’t fall on his face.

Small mercies.

He was aware of people glancing at him, some wondering ‘what does the help think he’s doing?’, but he put on his best face and ignored them.

Ven’fir hadn’t moved from his spot and that was causing some interest too, but as Malavai rounded the side of the car, he turned to give him a blinding smile, all boyish and happy.

It made Malavai's heart flutter.

With his nerve steeled and his own smile fixed on his face, he reached for Ven’fir’s hand just as Ven’fir reached for his.

Ven’fir, ever the centre of attention, leaned in and pressed his lips to Malavai's cheek softly, lingering just long enough to be notable.

The reporters went wild, and Malavai wondered over how many front covers his blush would be splashed over.

A lot, probably.

Ven’fir pulled away with a self satisfied smile, sly and sweet and bright enough to match the flashes of the cameras.

Malavai loved that smile.

Inside was a familiar story, some people assuming Malavai was there in his role as ‘the help' and then staring as Ven’fir kissed his cheek or snaked an arm around his waist.

Honestly, this was probably the first time Malavai had enjoyed a party.

The petty part of him (it was a _large_ part) liked how people weren’t sure if they should treat him as the assistant or the date.

Somehow, he managed to blend being Ven’fir's date with being his assistant, and managed to get several introductions out of the way before Ven’fir found the booze and networking became a significantly more dangerous activity.

Still, it was _fun._

There were a few stolen kisses and some badly hidden smiles, and he was sure they were going to be in every gossip rag tomorrow.

Still, as Ven’fir wrapped his arms around him before the fell asleep, he couldn’t say he minded.

They hadn’t had sex either, which Malavai was oddly grateful for. Ven’fir had tugged him inside with a grin that promised fun, but as Malavai was thinking about how to let him down easy, Ven’fir had already dragged him to the kitchen and got the hot chocolate out.

He was so ridiculous and adorable and _strange._

Malavai smiled back and they had sat in their suits and drank hot chocolate with marshmallows in the kitchen at two in the morning while Ven’fir laughed about the reactions they had gotten from the party.

There had been sweet, sticky kisses and an argument about washing the mugs, and a laughing Malavai had let Ven’fir drag him to his bedroom so they could sleep.

Laying there in borrowed pyjamas as his employer cuddled up to him like a limpet, Malavai let himself think.

There were three appointments in the morning and he needed to make several calls, and Ven’fir would need to be reminded about his lunch with Lana at one. That was only the beginning.

He closed his eyes, curling into warm arms and breathing deeply.

It could wait.

* * *

Morning should have been awkward.

It should have been strange and weird and clumsy.

Instead, Malavai woke to Ven’fir coming out of the shower looking like a _dream_ , his hair damp and droplets of water still beading his skin.

Malavai wanted to lick them off.

Ven’fir noticed he was awake and a delighted grin spread over his face.

“Hey,” he greeted, fond. “Wow.”

Bemused, Malavai ran his fingers through his hair and tried not to worry about what a mess he must look like.

“What?” He asked, voice rough from sleep.

Ven’fir just grinned, and a droplet of water followed the line of his hips to disappear under the towel.

He shrugged helplessly, the look on his face so desperately fond that Malavai felt his breath hitch.

“I just can’t believe you’re here,” he admitted. “In my bed. That you said _yes.”_

Malavai blushed.

“Well, you were very convincing.” He muttered, awkward. “I can’t believe that I ended up in the same place as all those floozies I had to chase out.” He said with a small laugh.

Ven’fir shook his head and moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

“You’re so different from them,” he murmured, and he sounded like he meant it. He reached out a hand to brush a strand of hair from Malavai's brow. “I actually _like_ you, for one.”

Malavai snorted, amused. “So romantic.” He teased.

Ven’fir grinned.

“You would tell me to shut up if I got all cheesy and romantic on you.” He said knowingly. “Maybe you would look at me over the rims of your glasses like I’m a naughty schoolboy.”

Malavai raised his eyebrows.

“That look usually comes out because you’re acting like one.” He pointed out.

“Well, I think I could wipe that look off your face.” Ven’fir challenged, amused. “Maybe if I get under the desk for you...?”

Malavai swallowed, thinking about it. Ven’fir, hiding under his desk as Malavai fielded calls, his mouth full and doing his best to make Malavai lose his composure.

He licked his lips.

“Well, disregarding the fact that it’s entirely inappropriate...”

Ven'fir smirked. “Or maybe I’ll bend you over your desk, hmm? See how long you can last.”

Malavai, red faced and wanting, gave him a look. “Or maybe _I’ll_ bend _you_ over _yours_.” He shot back, amused.

Ven’fir winked at him, and Malavai grinned as he threw the covers back and headed for the bathroom.

It was strange, being in Ven’fir’s penthouse as a guest rather than an employee.

It would take some getting used to.

He cleaned himself up and, amused at the sheer number or variety of products nesting the counters, headed out again to find Ven’fir finishing off his skincare routine.

Malavai personally liked looking good and had his own routine, but his five minutes paled in comparison to Ven’fir's nine step marathon.

“We need to stop off at mine before we head into the office.” He murmured. “As fun as playing with the press was yesterday, I’m not ready to walk around in your clothes in public.”

“So, would you do it in private?” Ven’fir asked quickly, fast as a whip.

Malavai raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t have much choice, unless I put my suit back on and do the walk of shame in last night’s clothes.” He pointed out.

“But we didn’t even have sex.”

“Yes, but _they_ don’t know that.”

Ven’fir looked at him slyly as he patted serum into his cheeks.

“We could prove them right, you know.”

Malavai, having located a pair of jeans that he deemed acceptable, sent him a look.

“No. We would be late.”

Ven’fir pouted.

“But who would know? The only reason I turn up mostly on time is because of you.”

Malavai gave him a sickly smile.

“And now none of your excuses will work,” he reminded. “Because I’ll know.”

Ven’fir made a face.

“I’m regretting this.”

Malavai pecked him on the cheek as he passed him.

“No, you’re not.”

* * *

They greeted the secretary as they entered, and she gave them a beady look that Malavai imperiously ignored, and that Ven’fir winked at.

Malavai settled at his desk, booted up his laptop and turned his tablet on, watching Ven’fir as he made a beeline for the coffee machine.

He ambled back as Malavai was checking his mail, and put a steaming mug in front of him.

He leaned down and kissed him, sweet and slow, and when they parted, they smiled at each other.

“Ready to start the day?” Malavai asked, amused.

Ven’fir winked at him.

“With you? Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it me, or does anyone else get serious Pepper Potts vibes from Quinn?


	3. Android

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ven’fir finds an abandoned android in a scrap heap and repairs him. When the android wakes up, he can’t help but get attached.

It was the colour that tipped him off.

He was rooting through a scrap heap, taking care not to lose his footing or catch himself on something sharp.

The tangle of wiring and plastic didn’t look much different from the rest of the trash, but the wires were _blue._

That wasn’t normal.

Ven’fir frowned and adjusted the scarf around his mouth, still tasting the oil and acrid pollution on his tongue even through the fabric.

He tugged some more and pulled a little, and soon he realised that what he was yanking on was _attached._

Excitement blooming in his belly, he settled in and started extracting what he could.

It was when he pulled out an arm that he realised that he had stumbled onto something special.

* * *

“So, can you fix it?”

Vette gave him a look, examining the metal and plastic that lay on her workbench.

“It’s been here for two minutes, how should I know?” she grumbled, examining it. “It's definitely advanced though, one of the fancy ones.”

She pulled her optic-lens in front of her eye, and peered through it, poking here and there.

“Definitely expensive.” She whistled. “This is some serious tech.”

Ven’fir leaned against the grimy wall of Vette's workshop, watching her work. Watery sunlight fought its way through small windows pebbled with dirt and smuts, illuminating what the yellowing strip lights in the ceiling couldn’t.

They were in the old quarter, something one level above a slum that they both called home.

For Ven’fir, it had been a choice to leave the glittering spires and affluence of the Central District, but most people had never known anything else.

The streets were cramped and crowded, and the air smelled like incense and oil.

“So,” he asked, curious. “ _Can_ you repair it?”

Vette smirked at him, wiping her hands on her overalls.

“Of course, I can fix anything.”

* * *

Ven’fir checked back often.

Sometimes he popped in to gossip or make sure Vette had enough supplies before he took off again, trawling through the ruins of the Old World beyond the city walls. He often asked her to fix his equipment, leaving her far more money than she asked for as payment.

He was a well-known figure in their little slice of the city, handsome in a rugged way, his bright smile contrasting with his dusty leathers and trail worn coat, rifle on his back and a knife at his belt.

The progress was slow, and he often found himself watching Vette as she worked.

The pieces were surprisingly intact for the damage suffered, and it was fascinating to watch the broken pieces of technology slowly form something recognisable as humanoid.

Long, strong limbs were woven from tough synthetic musculature over a solid metal skeleton, wires and connectors looking more like organic nerves than any other android Ven’fir had ever seen.

Vette didn’t have many of the specialised parts needed for repair in her workshop, she didn’t usually deal with anything so advanced, so Ven’fir spent a lot of his time hunting down spare A-142 regulator pumps and haggling for overpriced high grade synthfluid.

Still, he often found himself marvelling at the wonder of technology that lay on Vette's worktable.

Androids weren’t uncommon, not at all, but ones that looked so human? Definitely rare. Most androids Ven’fir knew of were white shells over half exposed metal skeletons, cheaper models made for domestic help or hard labour.

Most of the ones in his district were rusting and worn, but he liked them. They were barely sentient, but the odd one or two seemed smarter than the rest.

They were step up from robots, which had no intelligence of their own at all.

Androids like this though? They were beyond expensive, and he wondered how one had ended up in a garbage dump far away from the Central District.

Maybe when they woke it up, he could ask it.

Him.

It _looked_ male, but you could never be sure with synthetics.

So, he kept going out beyond the walls, kept hunting artefacts and useful technology from ruins, and kept coming back to check on the android.

It was lonely work, but he enjoyed the thrill of the adventure.

He was picking his way through the tangled metal ruin of what had probably been a tower block, cradling his rifle in his hands.

He had already picked off some raiders earlier, hopped up on whatever substance they had managed to cook up out of what they had scavenged.

They had gone down easy, and half of them probably hadn’t noticed their fellows dropping like flies around them.

It made him edgy though, so when his communicator chipped softly from his wrist, he damn near shot out of his boots.

Swearing the air blue, he calmed his beating heart as he brought the little thing up to his mouth.

“What?” he snapped, annoyed at the interruption.

“Woah, simmer down big guy.” He heard Vette on the other end, her voice crackling but clear. He sighed.

“Sorry, I’m jumpy. Raiders.” He grunted, carefully stepping around a fallen pillar.

She made a disgusted noise, but soon perked up.

“I’ve got news!” She chirped, and Ven’fir couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh? Must be important if you are calling me.”

“It is. He's _awake_ , Ven.”

Ven’fir felt his heart miss a beat.

“Really?” he asked, excited.

“Well, he’s not like... talking or whatever, but he's _active.”_ he could hear her excitement. “Am I good or what- this is so awesome! That thing is worth as much as our whole district and it's in _my_ shop!”

Ven'fir grinned, her cheer infectious.

“So, it's active? You gotta wait until I’m there to wake it.”

“But you're _days_ away!” she whined. “And Ven- he's breathing! He's got some kind of protocol, I dunno, but he's _breathing_. And his eyes move, like he's asleep. If I hadn’t built half of him, I would think he was human.”

Ven’fir shook his head, amazed.

“Lucky find, then. Wait for me.”

“Ugh, fine.”

He smiled.

“I'll bring you back some power couplings.” He wheedled, and he heard her snort.

“Yeah, whatever. You’re forgiven. As long as they actually _work_ this time.”

* * *

He really was a pretty thing, Ven’fir mused as he watched the steady rise and fall of the android's chest. He wasn’t _really_ breathing, he didn’t need to, and he had no lungs to fill with air, but the effect was uncanny. His eyes moved under his eyelids, and Ven’fir was fascinated.

He definitely male, at least in body, and Vette had slapped his hand as he went to peek under the blanket covering him. Apparently, he was _very_ lifelike. Vette had given him a look and primly informed him that one of her assistants had put the android into some pants, after it had been pointed out that it was probably weird to have a lifelike, naked android in her workspace.

They, whoever had built him, had given him a pretty face.

Ven’fir certainly wasn’t complaining.

He wasn’t perfect.

Vette may have been good, but even she couldn’t seamlessly repair the damage that had been done.

There were exposed ports at the base of his neck with wires running from them, and silvery lines ran from the corners of his eyes where she hadn’t been able to cover them with enough synthetic skin.

Seams ran all over his skin where the plates that hid his delicate internal working met each other. They were barely noticeable at first, faint and subtle.

She told him that there was more she couldn’t fix or that she had to cut corners on, but it was still an amazing feat to have fixed something so complex and delicate.

He had paid her, obviously, but it didn’t seem like enough.

“Are you ready?” she called to him from where she was fiddling with something, and he spared one last glance at the peaceful face of the android before he turned away.

“Yeah. Boot him up or whatever.”

She gave him a nasty glare, and he blew her a kiss.

Rolling her eyes, she flicked something on the machine the wires were connected to, and the android tensed before relaxing again.

He opened his eyes, and Ven’fir was enraptured.

His eyes were blue, so unnaturally bright that it took his breath away.

_Beautiful._

Vette stepped over to check on the android, clinically assessing him.

She moved her hands towards his neck in order to gain access to the ports at the top of his spine, and he moved.

He was so quick Ven’fir didn’t realise what was happening until the android was off the table and pinning Vette to the wall by her neck, bright eyes narrowed and expression fierce.

Heart thudding and panic invading his mind, he aimed his rifle at the android, barrel steady.

“Put her down, now!” He ordered, fully ready to blow the machine away if it did not comply.

Vette was struggling against the hold, her eyes bulging as she tried to breathe.

The android’s expression was cold and hateful, but at Ven’fir’s shout, he seemed to return to himself.

His eyes widened and he dropped Vette, who slumped to the floor clutching her throat and trembling.

Ven’fir kept his gun trained on the android as he moved the check on Vette, watching at how he stumbled back, horrified. He backed into a corner and slid down the wall to slump against it, drawing his knees to his chest.

Ven’fir helped Vette to her feet.

“That fucker almost killed me!” She snarled, her voice hoarse and frightened under her anger.

“I don’t think he meant to, look.” Ven’fir muttered, gesturing to the stricken android.

Vette’s ire calmed somewhat when faced with an android who, for all intents and purposes, looked to be having a panic attack.

Huh.

Vette refused to move closer to the android, but Ven’fir carefully crept closer, wary.

He had seen how strong and fast he could be, and he did not want to end up grappling with something like that.

“Hey,” he murmured as he got close. “It's alright. We’re not going to hurt you.”

The android looked up; his arms wrapped around his knees. His eyes were wary.

Ven’fir cracked what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“It's okay. You were just scared, yeah? I’m Ven’fir.” He introduced himself. “I found you. You were broken. This is Vette. She repaired you.”

The android flicked his gaze over to the frightened looking Vette.

“I’m sorry.” He said, his voice sounding staticky and glitching as he spoke. He curled up further into himself. “I didn’t mean to. I thought you were someone else.”

Vette slowly nodded.

“Uh, okay.” She allowed, not taking her eyes off him.

Ven’fir slowly reached out, and his heart thudded against his ribcage as the android fixed his eyes back on him.

“Want to get up?” he asked gently, smiling.

The android eyed his hand with suspicion but nodded.

He got up himself, not touching Ven’fir’s offered hand.

He was tall, almost as tall as Ven’fir was, but much leaner.

Faint blue light could be seen in a curious circle in his chest, no doubt where his main power regulator was.

He was snow pale and had dark hair, and Ven’fir wasn’t used to seeing someone so fair. People didn’t stay pale unless they couldn’t work.

“Do you have a name?” he asked, and the android looked at him with those unnerving eyes.

“Malavai.” He whispered, voice gaining some strength. “My designation is Malavai.”

Malavai. A pretty name.

He said as much and looked in wonder at how to the android seemed to look _embarrassed._

“Well Malavai, it's good to meet you.” He said with a smile. “Although I feel like I already have. I’ve been collecting parts for you for months.”

Malavai's eyes were wide.

“Months? How broken was I?”

Ven’fir winced.

“I thought you were scrap when I found you.” He admitted. “You were... well, you were a mess.”

Malavai nodded jerkily.

“Where am I?” he asked, looking around.

“You’re in my workshop.” Vette answered, cautiously moving closer to them. “Like Ven said, I fixed you.”

Malavai looked awkward, and it should not have been possible for an android to do that so naturally.

“I’m sorry for hurting you. The last thing I remember was... I was fighting.” He admitted. “When I woke up, it was like I had only closed my eyes for a moment.”

Ven’fir winced again.

“Well, that explains the reaction to being poked and prodded.” He muttered. “You said you were fighting? You a new soldier model then?”

Malavai tilted his head.

“No.”

Ven’fir waited, but it seemed like the android was disinclined to elaborate.

“You’re definitely advanced though.” He murmured, “You’re hardly a domestic model.”

Malavai tilted his head. “I am a prototype.” He said easily. “I was to be used for infiltration and assassination.”

Well then.

That was... ominous.

“A murder robot. Awesome.” Vette grunted, flicking one braid over her shoulder.

Ven’fir shrugged. “That also explains why you’re so lifelike,” he hummed. “Can’t infiltrate anything if everyone knows you’re a ‘droid.”

Malavai tilted his head, curious.

“I wasn’t good enough. I was to be decommissioned.” He said quietly. “I was... frightened. I tried to run, but they caught me.”

Ven’fir sighed.

“Aw, shit.” He muttered. “That’s fucking awful.”

He aimed a smile at Malavai. “Well, you’re not there anymore. You’re here. It’s a bit shit, but it’s got character.”

Malavai’s eyes widened, and Ven’fir could just about see the lenses dilating inside his iris.

“You will let me stay?” he asked, sounding surprised. “I assumed you would return me for a reward.”

Vette scoffed. “To those rich pricks in the Central District? Not likely.”

She stared the android down.

“You’re not staying here, though. I don’t have the space for a creepy murderbot.”

Malavai looked away. “I can survive on my own.” He said simply.

Ven’fir frowned.

“Well, obviously you’ll stay with me until we get you your feet.”

Malavai blinked at him.

“I'm already in possession of feet.” He looked down and curled his toes.

Ven’fir stifled a laugh. “Not an expression you’ve heard, then. I meant until you’re ready to go it alone.”

“Oh.” Malavai looked rather overwhelmed. “Thank you.”

Vette gave him a look that he translated to ‘are you sure you know what you’re doing?’.

Ven’fir just winked at her.

“Right, come on.” He said, smiling. “Vette can finish up her checks, and I’ll find you some clothes.” He said firmly.

Malavai just nodded, looking lost.

* * *

As they walked down the street, Ven’fir had to keep a close eye on Malavai.

He kept close to Ven’fir as he looked around him with wide eyes, taking in the hustle and bustle of the market.

People with cybernetic limbs chatted with those swathed in diaphanous robes, children and animals darting around their feet in the dusty, blistering heat of the afternoon sun.

Malavai seemed amazed by it all, and Ven’fir had to admit that it was kind of adorable.

He couldn’t pass for a human easily anymore, what with the exposed ports on his neck and his unusually vibrant eyes that Vette had admitted to making a mistake with when resetting the resin for his irises. The sheen to them was odd, and the faint blue lines that circled his pupil should have been off putting. Some struts on his neck were exposed still, silvery metal merging almost seamlessly with pale skin. When he had been dressing earlier, Ven’fir had seen the odd blue glow coming from his spine, where many of his wires ran under the surface. Silvery tech ran down from the ports at the top of his neck down the curve of his spine and disappeared beneath the waistband of the pants Ven’fir had found for him.

At this distance though, he attracted stares for his pale skin and how he stuck close to Ven’fir, rather than his inhuman nature.

“Is it always like this?” Malavai asked, curious.

Ven’fir nodded.

“Yup, pretty much. It’s a bit mad, but I like it better than fancy town to the north.”

Malavai tilted his head.

“You mean the Central District. Yes. It is... different. Quieter.”

“Cleaner too,” Ven’fir smirked. “And way more up itself.”

Malavai didn’t respond to that, although that could have been because he didn’t understand.

He was dressed in some of Ven’fir's clothes that he kept around Vette's for when he couldn’t be bothered to go home, and Ven’fir couldn’t help but smile when he saw him.

The trousers were too short and the shirt far too big, but it was better than nothing. He really _would_ attract attention of he was half naked.

The shirt was hanging off one shoulder, much too large for Malavai’s slimmer frame.

The android didn’t seem to mind.

Ven’fir didn’t either.

Ven’fir's home was a pleasant place set above a fabric shop, picked because of the large windows that looked out over the district.

“Well, this is home.” He said with a grin, waving to his neighbour, who peered curiously at Malavai.

Mrs DeVere was a voracious gossip, and Ven’fir was sure tales of him bringing home a new plaything would soon be rampant.

Oh well. It didn’t bother Ven’fir, after all.

He chivvied Malavai inside, moving the curious android along up the stairs and into the apartment proper.

It was nothing fancy, it was worn and cluttered and a bit dusty, but it was home.

Ven’fir was a collector by nature, and his home reflected that. Colourful throws lay over a battered sofa, and faded, patterned cushions seemed to take up most of the room on it. Dusty rugs and cluttered end tables filled the space, and the walls were adorned with posters and old artwork that looked to have been liberated from ruins or pawn shops. Sunlight streamed in through grubby windows, motes of dust shining like glitter in the air.

A tiny kitchen stood off to one side, and the doors to his bedroom and bathroom were closed.

He stood in the centre of the living area with a grin.

“Well, make yourself at home." He assured and sighed when the android didn’t move. “Right. Sit down, and just... I don’t know. Try and relax, yes? I’m going to make myself some tea. Do you want some?”

Malavai blinked at him. “I don’t think there would be any point.” He said flatly. “I could drink it, but why?”

Ven’fir shrugged.

“It tastes good.” He said with a lopsided smile, moving about his little kitchen. He got the old kettle boiling and took off his coat. The heavy, battered leather was great out in the wilderness, but it wasn’t necessary in his own home.

“I’ll make you one. You can try it if you want.” He decided.

“We need to get some clothes for you too,” he mused as he threw teabags into two chipped mugs. “Mine don’t fit you. You have ridiculously long legs.”

“I apologise.”

Ven’fir blinked, before he chuckled.

“I wasn’t upset,” he assured, amused. “Just passing comment.”

“Oh.”

Ven’fir chuckled.

He was sweet.

Finishing up the tea, he handed one of the mugs to Malavai, who peered at it.

Ven’fir drank his, chatting to fill the silence.

Malavai was not a good conversationalist.

“So,” Ven’fir began after another conversation topic had run dry. “Do you sleep?”

Malavai tilted his head. “I can enter a state of stasis for a limited time,” he said carefully. “In order to simulate sleep.”

Ven’fir hummed.

“Another one of those ‘infiltration’ protocols, then.”

Malavai nodded.

“I was supposed to be able to blend seamlessly with humans,” he murmured, “But I wasn’t very good. They thought there was something wrong with my personality. I think I was supposed to be more... likeable.”

Ven’fir's heart clenched.

“Well, _I_ like you fine.” He decided. “You're a little quiet, but considering what you’ve been through, I’ll give you a free pass.” He winked. “Still, you don’t need to worry about that anymore. You’re here, and everyone here is pretty weird.” He admitted.

The android tilted his head, the action mechanical and unnerving.

“Oh? I was taught that everyone in the other districts were criminals and thugs.”

Ven’fir snorted.

“Yeah, I’m sure you were. Listen, I was born over in Central.” He said frankly. “I hated it. The gossiping, the spying, the holier-than-thou attitudes and the selfishness. People elsewhere were dying of thirst and starvation and we were holding parties? I started speaking for reform and you know what that got me? Disowned, and thrown out. Literally.” He gave a humourless grin. “They drugged me, carried me off, threw me into the wilds and left me there.”

Malavai’s eyes were wide, and Ven’fir could see the cool blue of the connectors glowing in the fading light.

“Obviously, I lived. I ended up here. This place isn’t the best, but it’s a damn sight better than that gilded cage.”

He sighed and stretched, tired. “It’s dusty and cramped and no one has any money and it’s fucking _dangerous_ , but it’s more home than Central ever was.”

He grinned down at the android.

“And now it's your home too.”

Malavai seemed to process this.

He met Ven’fir’s eyes and gave him a tiny smile.

* * *

It was strange really, having someone else in the house for an extended period of time.

Ven’fir's usual guests tended not to stay past the morning, and sometimes not even then. Long enough to fuck, and then they were gone.

So, having Malavai as an almost constant presence was rather strange.

Not _bad_ , as the android was exceptionally helpful and quiet, but strange.

He stuck to Ven’fir like glue.

It was kind of cute really, to see this badass murderbot (to borrow Vette's phrase) staying so close and getting so attached.

He was a cute thing, and Ven’fir got to see more of his personality as the android relaxed around him.

He was serious and literal, although his sense of humour (buried way, WAY down) was dry as the wasteland outside.

He was a fast learner too, which surprised no one. Still, his curiosity got him into trouble more than once. Ven’fir had just about had a heart attack when he'd lost Malavai at the market and realised that the android was a prime target for the less than scrupulous types in the district. They would strip him for parts, and some gangs wouldn’t even bother to shut him down before they started.

When he did find the android, it was in an alleyway, surrounded by three corpses in various states of broken. Malavai was peering at them curiously while he adjusted his collar.

He blinked as he spotted Ven’fir, who was gaping at him.

“I believe these individuals were planning to mug me.” He murmured, not nearly as concerned as Ven’fir thought he should be. “I have killed them.”

“I can see that!” Ven’fir managed, voice sounding strangled. He rushed over. “Shit, did they hurt you?” he fussed, unable to forgive himself is something happened to the android.

Malavai blinked at him, tolerating Ven’fir’s hands on him as he hurriedly checked him over.

“They did not hurt me.” He said placidly.

Ven’fir blew a breath from pursed lips.

“Fuck.” He breathed, “I thought I had lost you.”

Malavai tilted his head.

“Would that upset you?” he asked quietly, blood on his hands and his eyes oddly soft.

Ven’fir frowned at him.

“Of course it would.” He defended. “You’re my friend, Mal.” He glanced at the bodies and made a face. “Ew. We should go, before someone finds us standing over a load of corpses.”

He checked the pockets of the bodies and took what he wanted, before grabbing Malavai's hand and hauling him out of the alley.

Malavai let himself he led away, quiet and thoughtful.

“I would miss you too." He said quietly, as they closed the door to Ven’fir’s home behind them. “If I lost you.”

Ven'fir swallowed painfully, something tugging at his heart.

“Speaking of,” he started awkwardly. “I need to head out soon. People call me a hunter, but really, I’m a scavenger. I go beyond the walls.” He murmured. Malavai already knew this, but it felt important to say again. “I’ve already left it late. People need things, and I need money.”

Malavai tilted his head, and Ven’fir was struck by how much he liked that habit.

“How long will you be gone?” he asked quietly.

Ven’fir shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “A few weeks. Maybe a month.”

He saw Malavai’s eyes widen, and a little sliver of panic flash over his face.

“I’ll come back.” He felt like he needed to assure him.

The android looked unsure.

“I... where should I go?” he asked quietly.

Ven’fir blinked.

“What do you mean?”

The android met his eyes.

“You’re leaving, so where should I go? I don’t have enough money for a house-"

Ven’fir shook his head, exasperated.

“You’re staying _here_ , Mal. I’m not going to kick you out.”

Malavai's eyes were wide and questioning. “But you won’t be here. You would trust me alone in your home?”

Ven’fir shot him a grin.

“Well, I think it's kinda your home too, now.”

Malavai, awkward and grateful, smiled at him, and Ven’fir felt his heart sing.

* * *

In the end, he was away for three weeks.

He had a good haul, his pack full of useful and, more importantly, valuable knickknacks.

He was dusty and trail worn and for once, looking forward to coming home for more reasons than just sleeping in his own bed.

He gave the gate guard a tired grin, his duster curling at his knees and his rifle strapped securely to his back.

It was the middle of the night, and although the district never really went to sleep, it was quieter now than in the daylight.

He traced the familiar paths to his home, an odd nervous feeling fluttering in his belly.

He had spoken to Malavai only twice when he had been away, as the android _still_ didn’t have his own communicator. Still, it had been nice to speak with him over Vette's crackling connection, and to hear them bicker.

Vette hadn’t truly forgiven Malavai for turning on her when he had woken up, and the android weathered her snark with terse responses and caustic remarks.

They probably wouldn’t ever get on, but Ven’fir would take what he could get.

He pressed his finger to the scanner on his door, wondering what he would find inside.

He couldn’t imagine Malavai throwing wild parties or anything so fun, but he also couldn’t be sure that he _hadn’t._

Or rather, that Vette hadn’t convinced him.

He headed up the worn stairs, the bowing wood creaking under his boots.

It was dark inside and for once horrible second, he thought Malavai was gone.

A soft blue glow told him otherwise, and his heart softened when he crossed to the sofa and saw the android, the same as when Ven’fir had left him, curled up on the sagging cushions. His eyes were closed, and he was clearly in stasis, so Ven’fir took a moment to admire him in the faint moonlight.

He was _lovely._

He sighed fondly, his heart settling, and tried to make himself comfortable without waking Malavai.

He should have known better.

“Ven’fir?”

He just about jumped out of his skin as he was pulling a boot off, and with a great windmilling of arms and much cursing, caught himself on the kitchen counter.

“ _Fuck_ Malavai, you scared the shit out of me,” he muttered, and the android had the grace to look contrite. “I thought you were asleep.”

Malavai, luminous eyes glowing in the gloom, regarding him with an expression Ven’fir couldn’t place.

“You’re back.” He murmured. “I thought you might have been a burglar. I was about to kill you.”

Ven’fir shivered, calming his racing heart. He fumbled for a light switch and watched as Malavai's eyes dilated in the warm light.

“Mal, you can’t kill everyone who crosses you.” He sighed.

Malavai tilted his head.

“Why not?”

Ven’fir stared at him.

“Because...” he couldn’t think of anything. That was probably a bad sign. “Because it gets blood everywhere.” He finished lamely.

Malavai nodded seriously.

“I will endeavour not to leave a mess.” He said with adorable sincerity.

Ven’fir sighed and flopped down on the other seat, boneless and tired. He glanced at the android, who seemed to be on the verge of saying something.

An idea occurred.

“Hang on,” he frowned. “Why were you out here? There’s a _bed_.”

Malavai looked at him like _he_ had said something odd.

“That's _your_ bed.”

Ven’fir blinked.

“Yes, but I wasn’t _here_ , Mal. You could have slept there, you know.”

Honestly, Ven’fir wouldn’t have minded if Malavai slept in his bed while he was _in_ it either, but he didn’t want to take advantage.

Malavai tilted his head.

“It felt wrong.” He murmured. “And... it would have made me notice how much you weren't here.”

Oh.

“Mal-" Ven’fir started to speak, but he never got the chance to finish before he found himself with an armful of strong limbs.

Malavai was hugging him.

It was a surprisingly nice hug, considering he was as awkward as they came and made of metal and plastic.

He was cool to the touch, but he was _real._

“I missed you.” he heard Malavai murmur, nose buried in the crook of Ven’fir’s neck.

Ven'fir softened, and gently wrapped his arms around the man clinging to him.

“I missed you too.” He admitted.

Malavai did not seem inclined to let go, and Ven’fir didn’t really mind. He shifted to get comfortable and settled down.

His heart swelled, and he listened to the faint noises of the district at night.

He _had_ missed him.

More than he probably should have.

He closed his eyes and let the sound of Malavai's simulated breathing lull him to sleep.

* * *

He woke up on the sofa, alone and with a blanket tucked around him.

He blinked gritty eyes and yawned, sitting up and wincing at how his back popped.

He could smell coffee.

Lovely, perfect, life giving coffee.

“You’re awake.”

He blinked as blue entered his vision.

Malavai was staring at him.

“Mornin'.” Ven’fir greeted, by now unbothered by the odd android.

He looked around and spotted breakfast, still steaming.

“I love you,” he said with a grin, not thinking as he got off the sofa and followed his nose, helping himself and beginning to eat.

Malavai watched him.

He looked so much better in his own clothes, but Ven’fir couldn’t remember buying those ones.

Malavai caught him looking.

“I bought them.” He said simply. “I got bored while you were gone, and ran some errands for some money.”

Ven’fir grinned, pleased.

“Nicely done. How much did you earn?”

When Malavai told him, his jaw dropped.

“How on earth did you earn _that_ much in three weeks?!”

Malavai shrugged.

“I don’t get tired and I don’t need to sleep.” He reminded. “That means I have a lot more working hours than you.”

“I spent a lot of it though. I bought a new filament for your shower, and I fixed the pressure.”

Ven’fir blinked.

“You did? You didn’t need to do that, Mal.” He murmured, grateful. “But thank you.”

The android gave him a dry look.

“I made good use of it already. I didn’t wait for you.”

Ven’fir snorted. “Fair.”

Showers were a luxury, and he was infinitely glad his district didn’t have a water shortage.

They had an underground river below them, and water wasn’t much of an issue. Other places were not so lucky.

He grinned.

“In that case, it would be remiss of me if I didn’t avail myself of your hard work.” He winked, standing up and stretching.

“Leave the dishes for me, I’ll do them when I’m out of the shower.” He waved a hand, and Malavai just watched him go.

Everything was immaculate when he got out, and he sighed.

“Mal, I don’t need a maid.” He called, running his fingers through his hair. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt, and he padded around barefoot.

“Yes, you do.” Came the reply, and he found Malavai sitting at his battered kitchen table, his duster spread out over it and a thick needle in his other hand.

“If it were up to you, you would be knee high in rubbish.”

Ven’fir rolled his eyes.

“I would not. I took care of myself before I met you, didn’t I?”

Malavai, not looking up, pulled some thread through a hole.

“Just about.” He shot back, “You’ve got a bullet hole in your coat.”

Ven’fir shrugged, making a beeline for the fridge and extracting a bottle of beer.

He popped the cap and flopped onto the sofa to watch Malavai work.

“Yeah. I think it's an old one.” He murmured, admiring how delicate Malavai was being.

He had lovely hands.

The android finished his last stitch and held up the coat critically and found it acceptable.

He glanced up, and Ven’fir caught him staring.

He grinned.

“Like what you see?” he winked, theatrical.

Malavai tilted his head, before getting up and walking over to him.

He had seen Ven’fir without a shirt plenty of times, as the scavenger was hardly body shy, but something seemed different.

He sat next to Ven’fir, who felt his skin prickle at their proximity.

“I really did miss you.” Malavai murmured, looking like if he could, he would be blushing.

Something fluttering in his belly, Ven’fir grinned wider, feeling off balance.

“So, you _do_ like what you see.” He teased.

Malavai frowned.

“I shouldn’t.”

Ven’fir blinked.

He had said that as a joke, but it seemed that Malavai didn’t see it that way.

The android seemed frustrated, unable to find the right words.

Ven’fir set his beer down on the table, heart racing.

“Malavai...” he began, gentle. “When you said you missed me, you didn’t just mean as a friend, did you?”

The poor android looked so awkward and, to Ven’fir's surprise, angry at himself.

“I’ll go if you want.”

That was not what Ven’fir had expected.

“What?”

“I’ll leave if you want me to.” Malavai said quietly.

“Why would I want you to leave?” Ven’fir asked him, genuinely baffled.

Malavai frowned.

“Because no one wants a faulty android pining after them.” He burst out, upset. “I didn’t mean to care for you, it... just happened. I wasn’t even sure I could.” He admitted. “But I do, and I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry,” Ven’fir sighed, heartbeat thudding against his chest. He felt as light as a feather and as heavy as lead, something tickling his belly. “What makes you think I would be upset? I’m flattered, actually.” He grinned, but Malavai didn’t smile back.

“I’m a _machine_.” He stressed, “I’m not a real person.”

Ven’fir sighed again.

“Yes, you are. Do you think for yourself? Do you like things, dislike them, have your own thoughts a feelings? Then you’re a person.” He said firmly. “And I don’t care that you’re not human.”

He smiled softly at the ridiculous man sitting on the sofa next to him and shifted closer.

“Besides,” he breathed, and noted how Malavai's eyes widened. He watched the lenses on his eyes move, blue faintly glimmering in the sunlight. “I _like_ you, you funny man.”

Malavai looked dumbstruck, and it was a cute look on him.

Taking a chance, Ven’fir moved a hand to gently brush over the android’s cheek and cup his jaw, mindful of the exposed struts at his neck and collarbone. He was _fascinating._

“I want to kiss you.” He murmured, aware he needed to be careful with the anxious android. “Can I?”

After agonising seconds of watching the lenses in his eyes dilate in surprise, he saw Malavai nod. He looked shy. He probably hadn’t kissed anyone before. Ven’fir had never kissed an android either, so that made two of them.

Ven’fir leaned in and kissed him, sweet and chaste.

He hadn’t been so demure for _years_ , and it was novel to take things slow instead of a quick tumble with someone he’d met at the bar.

Malavai kissed back, tentative and unsure.

He tasted like tea and nothingness, and his mouth was slightly cool to the touch.

He leaned into Ven’fir, and his kisses became more enthusiastic.

Ven’fir grinned into the kiss and held him close.

It wasn’t like holding a human, all warmth and skin and scent.

Malavai was heavier than he probably should have been for such a lean build, but not enough to be uncomfortable. He felt human enough too, with the way his skin gave just enough to feel like flesh, and how the synthetic muscle under it was firm and solid. The seams on his skin were almost invisible in this light, but the Ven’fir could feel the odd triple beat of his regulator as it pumped coolant and synthfluid around his system, like a human heart would.

He wasn’t breathing either, having no need to or to enable to simulated breathing he often did without noticing.

He smelled like soap and nothingness, and Ven’fir never wanted to let him go.

Malavai eventually pulled away with a frown, and Ven’fir was about to ask what the problem was when the android moved closer and swung his leg over Ven’fir to sit in his lap, straddling him.

“This is more comfortable.” The android stated flatly, and kissed him again.

He seemed to think that if he stopped kissing him for a moment, Ven’fir might change his mind. He kissed like he wasn’t sure if he would be allowed to later.

He was inexperienced and a little unsure, but he was the best thing Ven’fir had ever felt because it was _him_.

He _wanted_ him.

But he needed to be careful.

Malavai was new to this, new to _everything_.

He didn’t want to push him before he was ready. Besides, he wasn’t even sure if Malavai could even _do_ the whole sex thing.

With the way he was pressing against him, Ven’fir suspected he had some kind of sex drive or similar, but he had no idea if everything would work the same way he was used to.

The kissing was nice, though.

He broke the kiss, staying as close as he could.

Malavai's lambent eyes were wide and so close, Ven’fir could see the detailing on the lenses as they dilated.

He wasn’t human, not at all, but that was okay. Ven’fir didn’t give a damn that the person looking at him with such affection and care had been made, not born.

Malavai _cared_ for him, and that was all that mattered.

He smiled, and rested his forehead against the other mans, closing his eyes and revelling in the feeling of weight on him, of hands and the sound of clothes moving and the feeling of _closeness_.

“Fuck, I love you.” He murmured, feelings welling up in a tsunami of happiness, crashing over him and making him giddy.

Malavai shifted to lay against him, putting his ear to Ven’fir’s chest to listen to his heartbeat.

“I think I love you too.” He murmured, and Ven’fir wrapped his arms around him loosely, content.

* * *

They had been cautious in the beginning, a little early of each other, a little unsure.

The affection had been light and careful, but had picked up pace like a runaway train, snowballing into kisses and cuddles and murmured words.

In public they were as they ever were, not because they felt the need to hide, but because neither of them were very soft people in front of others.

For Malavai's sake, exploration was a private thing.

Malavai, Ven’fir was delighted to discover, _did_ have a sex drive. He had made some tasteless joke about a literal computer drive, and Malavai had shot back some caustic remark about the squishiness of humans that had made Ven’fir laugh.

Ven’fir had wanted to take it slow for the sake of his partner, and had been quite surprised when one day, the android had literally picked him up and carried him to the bedroom, frustratedly informing him that he would like to try sex now please and thank you.

Apparently, he had done some research and wanted to find out what he liked.

Ven’fir, surprised and interested in what sex with an android would be like, was all too happy to help him.

They lay there in a tangle of limbs, Malavai’s nose buried in the crook of his neck and one hand flat over his heart to feel the rhythm of it.

Ven’fir was catching his breath, gently running his fingertips down Malavai's spine, feeling the solid metal under firm synthskin.

Well, that had been... amazing.

He smiled fondly as he felt the android shiver under his fingertips.

“You’ll be leaving again soon, won’t you?”

Ven’fir sighed.

“Yeah.”

He felt Malavai shift next to him.

“I want to come with you.”

Ven’fir swallowed down the instinctual ‘no', and actually thought about it.

Malavai was tough, he knew that.

He was fast, sensible and strong.

“Okay.”

Malavai lifted his head to look at him, the silvery threads curling from his luminous eyes catching the light.

“I didn’t expect you to acquiesce so easily.” He admitted, suspicious.

Ven’fir laughed.

“You can take care of yourself, and it would be nice to have a partner I can rely on.”

Malavai stared at him for a few moments, like he wasn’t sure if Ven’fir was messing with him or not.

He apparently decided that Ven’fir was, in fact, telling the truth, and settled down again to cuddle.

Ven’fir grinned, resuming his gentle touches.

“Even if you had said no, I would have come along anyway.” Malavai murmured.

Ven’fir chuckled, fond.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... This one rather got away from me, didn't it?
> 
> Ven'fir is less of an unbelievable brat in this, probably because he already got that out of the way. 
> 
> He's turned over a new leaf! No more ridiculous benders and tantrums and screwing pretty strangers! He's an adult now! His new android buddy is quite cute though...


	4. Angels and Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ven’fir, a rebellious angel, and Malavai, a workaholic demon, have been bickering for eight centuries. They're certainly not going to stop now.

Malavai felt it the moment the it happened.

He gripped his clipboard in annoyance, the wood creaking under the force of his hands.

The soul in front of him whimpered, perhaps feeling his ire.

Another presence had joined them, mingling with the unmistakable aura of a freshly deceased soul.

Clear, crisp and fresh, newly minted spirits were unmistakable. Malavai often likened them to a mountain stream in how they felt.

Unfortunately, he also recognised the other aura heading his way.

He would know that bright, warm, _joyful_ presence anywhere. It was like standing in summer sunshine.

Angel.

_Ugh_.

Not just any angel, either.

He scowled, tapping his pen on his clipboard, feeling his tail twitch in annoyance.

Did he _have_ to ruin every Gathering Malavai went on? Did he have nothing better to do than make his job difficult for eight hundred years?

Unbelievable.

The soul in front of him was shaking with fear and making pathetic whimpering noises, and Malavai glared at him.

“Be quiet,” he ordered, “Now, where were we? Summer of ’07, you cheated on your wife again, yes?”

The soul blubbered, and Malavai felt his lip curl over a sharp canine.

He hated the weepy ones.

They were always so... wet.

“Mal old pal, fancy seeing you here!”

He gritted his teeth, turning toward the source of the voice.

“Ven’fir.” He greeted coolly.

The angel that approached was not the angel of annoyance and irritation, but he might as well have been.

His Grace gave him a slight glow as he walked, the corona of soft light framing his curls in way that made him look like he had one of the halos that the mortals insisted on drawing his kind with.

His Grace flickered a bit around his shoulders, like it was ready to burst free and manifest as the ethereal wings that Malavai had seen once or twice.

He was, of course, quite lovely to look at, and wore a smarmy grin like it belonged on his face, his artfully distressed leather jacket and flattering jeans giving him a relaxed air.

His bronzed skin and light eyes gave him the air of a beautiful statue or painting, come to life for the express purpose of being a supreme irritation to those around him.

Malavai glared at him.

“You’re too late,” he said snippily. “This one is bound for the Pit.”

Ven’fir smirked at him, and Malavai wanted to hit him with his clipboard.

“I don’t think so, darling.” The angel said, amused. “He's borderline at best.”

“He cheated on his wife.”

“He gave to charity.”

“He lied. A lot.”

“He sponsored the donkey sanctuary.”

“He embezzled from his company.”

“He tweeted about equal rights.”

“He was guilty of _tax evasion.”_ Malavai stressed, irritated. “He's going to the Pit.”

The angel grinned.

“No, he isn’t. Do you know why?”

Malavai ground his teeth.

“Why?”

“He Confessed.”

Malavai stared, vaguely aware of how his tail was thrashing behind him, and how he was _this_ close breaking his clipboard.

“You’re _joking.”_ He snarled.

Ven’fir looked so smug, Malavai wanted to set him on fire.

“Not joking. Deathbed confession. Priest and everything.” Ven’fir said cheerily.

He glanced towards the soul, who looked both terrified and confused.

“Hear that, buddy? You’re going Upstairs."

The soul blinked at him.

“Are... are you an angel?” he asked breathily, and Ven’fir nodded benevolently.

“I am.”

The soul glanced at Malavai, and shuddered.

Good, he should be afraid.

“And he's a demon, right?”

Ven’fir nodded. “He is.” He said reasonably. “Did the horns and the tail give it away?”

The soul stared again, and shuddered, looking ill.

“He wants to send me to hell.”

“I do.” Malavai interrupted, ignoring the soul’s flinch as he spoke. “You've done bad things, Mr. Bell.”

Ven’fir waved a hand, smiling benevolently. Malavai knew he was an asshole, but to look at him you wouldn’t credit it.

“It's okay, Keith.” He soothed the frightened soul. “I won’t let him drag you to the Pit. You Confessed, remember?”

Malavai gritted his teeth.

“You make it extremely hard to meet quota when you keep _stealing all my souls._ ” He hissed, and Ven’fir smirked at him.

“Don’t get your tail in a knot, darling.” He purred. “Jealously is a sin, you know.”

“So is hubris.” Malavai shot back pointedly. “And lust.”

Ven’fir smirked at him, and sidled closer.

“Speaking of, I have a deal for you.” He purred, and Malavai gave him a look.

“I’m the demon here,” he said flatly. “Shouldn’t I be offering deals to _you_?”

Ven’fir ignored him.

“You can have Keith here,” he began with a smile. Keith blanched. “On one condition.”

Malavai gritted his teeth.

“Which is?”

“You go on a date with me.” The angel said winningly.

Malavai stared at him.

Ven’fir grinned.

“Get away from me before I gore you.” Malavai snapped.

Ven’fir stepped obligingly back, wary of potential follow through on the threat.

Ven’fir shrugged, amused.

“You’re cute when you’re angry.” He cooed.

Malavai snarled at him and, cheeks flushed crimson, snapped his fingers and disappeared in a flash of smoky flame.

He _hated_ that angel.

* * *

Ven’fir watched him go fondly.

“He's so pretty when he's mad.” He sighed, smiling at the little bit of charred ground the demon had left upon his exit.

Keith blinked at him.

“Uh, if you say so. You have strange taste, man.”

Ven’fir glanced at him.

“Seriously? Think about how much fun a demon would be in bed. The tail is cute, but the horns? Imagine holding onto those while a pretty thing is going to town.”

Keith looked at him oddly.

“I thought angels were all pious and stuff.” He muttered.

Ven’fir smirked.

“Maybe I’m just a bad angel.”

Keith frowned.

“Hey, you said that he could have me if he agreed to a date. You... you wouldn’t really have sent me to hell, would you?”

Ven’fir blinked at him.

“Hmm? Oh, right.” He grinned, and raised hand, ready to snap his fingers. “That’s the thing about confessions, Keith. You have to _mean_ them."

With a snap of his fingers and a flash of dazzling light, the soul was gone.

Ven’fir sighed, smiling to himself.

He hoped Malavai liked his gift.

* * *

The next time he saw the demon, it was at a another Gathering.

He had arrived in his usual flash of brimstone flame, and the soul Ven’fir had been about to ascend flinched.

Ven’fir couldn’t blame her, but he also wasn’t one to give up advantage of a situation.

Malavai approached, and Ven’fir admired him.

He wore an immaculate business suit, entirely black from his shirt to his jacket to his gunmetal cufflinks, and he carried his perennial clipboard.

Horns curved elegantly back from his head, black and shining as they curled and tapered to sharp points. His tail, a dark, whip thin thing with a small tuft of fur at the tip, swished behind him.

He was perfectly poised, all prim and proper and immaculate. Ven’fir wanted to mess up his hair, get his hands under his clothes, and have him _begging_ him for it.

That haughty expression on his fine face, all cheekbones and bright eyes, _that_ was what he wanted in his bed.

Or against his wall.

Or over his desk.

Anywhere, really.

More specifically, he wanted him _wrecked_ and moaning for him and-

Not the time.

“Mal,” he greeted with a grin, and the demon raised an elegant eyebrow as he approached.

The soul, a young woman with her hair in a mohawk and dressed in clothes that looked like they were more artful tear than fabric, stared. Her many piercings and tattoos looked a pretty silver on her now incorporeal skin.

“Ven’fir.” Malavai greeted coolly, as he inspected the soul. “Ah, I see.”

Ven’fir nodded. This one was definitely bound for Upstairs, and he was sure the demon could feel it.

“Yes. Practically got her halo already.”

The demon’s frown deepened.

“I can smell the goodness on her,” he murmured, wrinkling his nose. “She's yours, all right. I won’t try and take her.”

The soul kept staring, and Malavai's tail flicked irritably.

“I understand you’ve never seen a demon before, but staring is rude.” He snapped, and the soul blushed silver.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “You look so _cool.”_

Malavai blinked, surprised. Pink spread over his cheeks and the tips of his pointed ears.

“Ah, thank you.” He muttered awkwardly.

Ven’fir rolled his eyes.

“I’ve been telling you how good you look for hundreds of years and you never believe me, but one soul gets a blush out of you?”

Malavai’s cheeks flushed deeper pink. “You're creepy about it.” He sniffed. “And you have an unhealthy fascinated with my horns.”

Ven’fir shrugged, smirking.

“And your tail.” He teased, watching as said appendage curled at ankle level, showing its owners awkwardness.

The soul blinked at them.

“Do you two have like... a thing?” She asked, fascinated.

“Yes.” Ven’fir grinned.

“ _No_.” Malavai said at the same moment, scowling at Ven’fir.

The soul looked between the two of them, Ven’fir leering at the demon, who held his clipboard close like it would shield him from lascivious angels.

She grinned.

“That’s so hot.”

Malavai blushed bright pink and, with a sudden snap of his fingers, he disappeared in a gout of flame.

Ven’fir chuckled, and the soul looked surprised.

“I didn’t mean to scare him off.” She admitted, guilty.

Ven’fir waved her worry away.

“It’s fine, he does that a lot. He’s super awkward.” He grinned. “It’s cute.”

“It is.” She agreed. “So, you two are dating?”

Ven’fir sighed.

“No. I’ve been flirting with him since I first met him during the Mongol conquests. He’s such a workaholic I only ever seem to see him on Gatherings.” He rolled his eyes.

The soul frowned.

“Aren’t demons supposed to be, like… cool?” she asked, and Ven’fir had to stifle a laugh. “All creepy and evil or whatever? Or hot.” She shrugged. “Some shows make them look hot. He’s kind of stuffy.”

“He’s hot.” Ven’fir defended. “In a nerdy way.”

She shrugged again, not looking convinced.

“I guess.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Right, now you’ve met a demon and been entertained by my love life, shall we go? You’re due Upstairs.”

“Like, Heaven?”

He nodded, offering her his arm.

“Yep, Heaven. We have pearly gates and Netflix. Hell only has terrestrial.”

She gave him a look that stated that she thought he was full of shit and moved to take his arm.

Ven’fir grinned, and in a flicker of shimmering wisps of light, they were gone.

* * *

Ven’fir was in a bit of a bind.

Literally, in fact.

He had been investigating a lost soul, and the trail had led him to an old, crumbling house on the edge of a forest, somewhere in Akansas.

He had found the soul, which was good.

He had also found a Binding Circle, which was _really_ bad.

And by ‘found’, he meant that he had walked right into it.

He hadn’t seen it when he had walked in, only realising what was pressing against his senses when the fizz of magic snapped shut and trapped him inside.

Stuck in the Binding Circle and bored out of his mind, he sighed.

This was annoying, and the magic of the circle buzzed unpleasantly against his senses.

“So... what’s a spirit like you doing in a place like this?” he asked, grinning at the soul that had been used as bait.

The woman scowled at him.

“Don't talk to me, _demon.”_

Ven’fir blinked.

“I’m not a demon.” He assured. “I’m an angel.”

“No, you’re _not_.”

Okay, no one had refuted him quite so bluntly before. That was weird.

“Well, I was when I woke up this morning.” He joked, trying to put her at ease. It had the opposite effect.

She narrowed her silvery eyes, her incorporeal skin bright.

“I know what angels look like, and you sure as hell don’t look like one.” She accused, pointing a spectral finger at him. “I see through your lies, demon. The Lord will punish wickedness like yours.”

Ven’fir raised an eyebrow.

“He hasn’t yet.” He muttered, intending on ignoring the soul.

Besides, what did an angels look like anyway? Some blonde-haired white guy nerd in a smock, with fluffy wings and a glowing disc glued to his head?

Pfft, if that was what the woman wanted to see, it was no wonder she was disappointed.

Ven’fir hadn’t been seen in one of those smock things since they had gone out of fashion approximately a billion years ago, and he certainly wasn’t _blonde._

He sat down on the floor, cross legged and irritated.

Maybe if he manifested the wings, she would believe him and help him out?

Probably not.

The circle was too small anyway, he would just end up in a cramped mess and that was no fun at all.

He sighed and peered at the circle.

Hunters had likely made it, and it was a clever idea to have it near a recently departed spirit, whereupon they could catch whatever came for it. They would likely swing by at some point to check on their trap.

Of course, he suspected they had not been aiming to bag an angel.

Huh.

Those sigils looked familiar.

Ven’fir wasn’t good at this kind of nerd stuff, but one didn’t stay around for as long as he had without getting some idea of how it worked.

The circle didn’t prevent him doing anything, just from leaving it or disrupting it.

Shoddy, hasty work.

He grinned and flared a bit of power.

Anyone who was anyone would have felt that, but it hadn’t been in panic or warning. Most people would just ignore a flicker like that, but he was hoping to catch the attention of one particular person.

He smiled and settled down to wait.

* * *

He wanted to say that his rescue didn’t take long, that his aid rode in on a flaming steed and broke his prison with a word.

That was _not_ what happened.

Instead, Ven’fir was kept waiting for _hours,_ sitting in a cramped circle while the lost soul recited scripture and screamed profanity at him. She had no lungs to get tired, no throat to be sore. Great.

He was sore, grumpy and tired, but when he felt the tell-tale prickle of familiar power over his skin, he couldn’t have been happier.

The soul stopped her tirade, apparently able to feel something too.

Ven’fir stood up and stretched cramped limbs.

“Finally.” He sighed. “He probably left me hanging on purpose.”

In a gout of hellfire, his favourite demon took form in the mortal plane.

He looked as immaculate as ever, a shiny black briefcase replacing his customary clipboard.

Hid horns, elegant and curling, caught the light as the setting sun caught their glossy black.

He pinned Ven’fir with a look, striding in like he was entering a boardroom.

“It's about time,” Ven’fir teased, ignoring the soul behind him that was muttering prayers with increasing panic, her eyes fixed on the man heading towards them. “I thought you might not come.”

Malavai raised an eyebrow, inspecting the circle with the air of a professor looking critically at a student project. He set his briefcase down carefully.

“I almost didn’t,” the demon murmured, “But then I felt your presence alongside a soul like _that_ , and I couldn’t help but be curious. How _did_ you get yourself stuck in there?”

Ven’fir looked sheepish.

“Came for a soul, walked into the circle by accident.”

Malavai was about to speak when the soul they had both been ignoring started shrieking at him.

Startled, the demon faced her, which prompted another round of ear-piercing wails.

Irritated, he took three large steps towards her and frowned.

“Be quiet,” he muttered. He peered at her and she spat verses at him, and Ven’fir had to admit that it was a funny picture.

A small look of victory crossed the demons face.

“Oh, you’re _definitely_ one of mine.” He murmured.

The woman continued to hiss profanity at him, and he raised an elegant eyebrow.

“Well, since you seem to like hell so much, why don’t you take a look for yourself?” he muttered, and with a snap of his fingers and a flash of hellfire and smoke, she was gone.

Ven’fir winced. The Pit would not be a fun experience for her.

Malavai walked over to him, looking like a statue.

“How about you let me out?” Ven’fir wheedled, putting on his best pout.

The demon wasn’t moved.

“Why should I? What do I get out of it?” he asked, inspecting his nails.

“A kiss?”

Malavai gave him a look and Ven’fir raised his hands in surrender.

“A favour, then. Or a date. I would be happy to oblige one of those.”

The demon ignored the second offer, save for a blush of pink over his pale cheeks.

As cute as blushes were on his favourite demon, Ven’fir was quite pleased than his own skin tone was deep enough to hide all but the most crimson of cheeks.

“I’ll take the favour, I think.” He murmured, before deftly breaking the circle with his foot.

Ven’fir felt the magic die the moment the circle was broken, and the faint feeling of claustrophobia ebbed away.

He stretched and relished the way his limbs protested.

He grinned, heart swelling with fondness.

He moved closer to the demon, and before he could dodge it or protest, pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you.” He murmured, staying close before pulling back. He meant it.

Malavai was red faced and awkward.

A big departure from normal, then.

Amused, Ven’fir smiled at him.

“I really appreciate that you came for me.” He said honestly.

Malavai cleared his throat, desperately embarrassed.

“I- you're welcome.” He managed. “I’m sure you could have gotten out of it eventually.”

Ven’fir shrugged.

“Probably. But not any time soon. I knew you cared really, Malavai.” He teased, and the demon fiddled with his cufflinks.

“Despite popular thought, I’m not actually a sadist.” He said dryly.

Ven’fir grinned.

“Well, I appreciate it.” He nodded, before pausing. “And I really would like to go on that date with you.”

The demon looked startled, blue eyes wide and disbelieving.

“You don’t need to flatter me,” he muttered. “I already let you out.”

Stars, he was so _cute._

He also wouldn’t appreciate Ven’fir saying that, so he kept quiet.

“I’m not flattering you because I want something from you.” He assured. “Well, I suppose I do. I want to kiss you, and go on a date with you.”

Malavai looked flabbergasted.

“Why do you insist on this?” he asked, a crease forming in his brow. “You do not need to... to pretend. No one is here to impress, and there’s no soul to fight over.”

Ven’fir shrugged, smiling.

“I guess I must be serious, then.”

“You’ve never been serious a day in your life.” Malavai muttered sourly.

“And you work too much." Ven’fir countered. “Have you _ever_ had fun?”

Malavai scowled.

“ _Yes_. I read.” He said snippily.

Ven’fir stared at him.

“Yeah, you need to get out more.” He said without thinking.

Malavai’s expression darkened.

“Well, excuse me for taking my job seriously.” He snarled, “Some of us have quotas to meet.”

Ven’fir realised that this was not going the way he wanted it to.

“Sorry,” he blurted out, contrite. “I didn’t mean... I'm sorry, I sounded like an ass.”

The demon folded his arms.

“Yes, you did.” He said sharply and Ven’fir winced. “Do try not to get yourself caught again.”

With stiff, angry movements, he picked up his briefcase and was gone with a snap of his fingers, leaving Ven’fir standing alone in a musty old house.

Well, shit.

* * *

Ven’fir made it up to him with a gift and some kindness.

Soon, they were back to their usual bickering, but something felt different to Ven’fir.

Their arguments were peppered with more smiles than he remembered, and he swore Malavai let his eyes linger on him.

It was flattering of course, and exciting, but also deeply confusing.

As much as he liked the demon, and he liked him a _lot_ , he was aware that Malavai was a difficult person to get along with.

He was reticent and aloof, his awkwardness in social situations coming over as rude or strange to most.

He was defensive and quick to snap, stuffy and reluctant to trust and vicious when slighted.

Still, Ven’fir liked how he could keep up with him, how clever he was, and how sweet.

Well, perhaps ‘sweet’ was the wrong word.

Malavai wasn’t particularly kind-hearted, nor was he amiable or charming.

He cared, though. Deeply.

He pretended he didn’t, of course, but Ven’fir was very good at detecting hidden feelings, if he did say so himself.

Despite his many faults, Ven’fir _liked_ him.

Liked how Malavai could make him laugh with a caustic, sarcastic comment

Liked how they hated the same people, were both fiercely competitive and protective over those they had decided were ‘theirs'.

Case in point.

Ven’fir had arrived on the scene of a brutal murder suicide, which hardly brightened his mood.

Only one soul in this house was for him to deal with, the other two were definitely bound for the Pit. No borderlines there.

Instead of his favourite demon checking his clipboard as he consigned souls to eternal torment, he walked in to find Malavai arguing with someone.

The other demon was big, his shock of red hair making him stand out from the gloom of the house.

Malavai was looking up at him, expression frosty and something nasty lurking beneath the surface.

Ven’fir wondered if he was going to see the redhead gets his horns torn off and strangled with his own tail.

What a sight that would be.

He headed for them, and it was a testament to how angry Malavai seemed that he didn’t even glance over.

“-stealing my souls.” Ven’fir heard his demon snap, infuriated.

Redhead didn’t look impressed. His own horns, blunt, stubby things that jutted up from his forehead, made him look even taller than he already was.

His tail, a thick, almost reptilian thing, was held close to his body.

“If you were any good at your job, you’d have handled them already.” He argued, folding his arms. His biceps bulged from under the biker jacket he wore, and his ruddy cheeks spoke of annoyance.

Malavai’s knuckles were white as he gripped his clipboard.

“I _am_ processing them.” He bit back. “I’m following due process, something I’m sure _you’ve_ never done.”

He glared, his nose in the air.

“Souls need to be processed correctly, so there are no errors.” He stressed.

The redhead rolled his eyes.

“Who fucking cares?” he mocked.

Malavai seemed incensed at the idea of someone disregarding the rules so blatantly.

To be fair to him, Ven’fir was behind him on this. To commit a soul to the Pit without being completely sure they should be there? Not something Ven’fir liked the idea of.

There was a reason Malavai religiously stuck to that clipboard, after all.

“You can’t just send a soul to hell without knowing for certain they should be there.” he argued back, tone sharp.

“Don’t pretend you care about the souls; you just want to impress the bosses. They’re all damned anyway, you can smell it on them.” The redhead sneered. “You're just a _bootlicker_.”

Malavai looked like he was a second away of barbecuing this idiot (complete with a spit shoved somewhere unpleasant), and as tempting as it would be to see his demon go full on hell feral, it was something he was sure Malavai would regret.

Ven’fir headed closer with a bright smile, letting his power seep into the room.

He kept his hold on his Grace tenuous, allowing it to curl in wisps from his form, blurring his outline with light. He usually kept his power tightly leashed, and he hadn’t manifested his wings in their entirety in _decades_ , but sometimes you just had to show people what they were messing with.

“Gentlemen.” He greeted. The redhead glanced at him and looked faintly nauseous, but Malavai was an odd combination of irritated and pleased.

The redhead scowled, looking quite put off by Ven’fir’s presence.

“Angel.” He grunted. “Yours is in the back.”

Apparently, that was all he felt he needed to say, since he turned back to Malavai without saying anything further.

Ven’fir had never been so easily ignored in his _life_ , and he didn’t like it. Still, he had a soul to consider.

“Sure.” He said easily, and with an affable smile, headed for the room to the back of the house. He felt Malavai’s eyes on him and ignored it.

Malavai would understand.

He found the soul, a boy around seventeen, who was huddled in the corner of the kitchen.

Ven’fir sighed, heart aching.

“Hey,” he greeted, smiling.

The soul looking up, eyes wide and older than they had any right to be.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Ven’fir.” He said simply. “My friends call me Ven.”

“Oh. I’m Francisco.” The boy murmured.

Ven’fir nodded. “I know. Francisco, do you know what happened?”

The boy nodded, his eyes a little vacant.

“I’m dead. She killed me.”

Ven’fir swallowed painfully.

“Yeah. I’m going to take you somewhere better though. It’s nice.”

“Okay.”

Ven’fir sighed.

Heaven and Hell were complicated, and it was honestly quite difficult to explain them in a way that made sense.

Usually, he didn’t try.

He held out his hand.

Francisco looked at it, dazed.

“You’re an angel, right?”

Ven’fir nodded.

“Yeah.”

Francisco took his hand

“You don’t look like an angel.”

Ven’fir let himself grin.

“I get that a lot.” He admitted, and one tiny corner of Francisco’s mouth lifted for just a second.

Ven’fir helped him to his feet.

“I think it’s because I’m not blonde.” He said, conversational. “And I don’t wear those horrible smock things. Some angels still wear them, you know. They’ve not been fashionable for literal millennia.”

Francisco smiled, and didn’t let go of his hand.

“You don’t have wings.”

Ven’fir gave him a wink.

“I do, but they clash with my jacket.” He squeezed the hand that held so tightly onto his. “Right, you’ll love this bit.”

Francisco swallowed, concerned.

“I’m going?”

“Yeah. It’s good though. Really nice. I’ll come and visit in a while, okay? I like to check on people.” He admitted. “You’ll take a few days to get settled.”

Angels radiated calm, should they wish to. Ven’fir wished it very much at that moment.

There was a reason when angels said, ‘do not be afraid’, that people _listened_.

He gave Francisco a little grin.

“See ya.”

The boy looked at him in wonder, even as Ven’fir snapped his fingers and sent him on his way in a whirl of glittering motes.

He sighed, tired. That could have been worse.

Right. Now, to see if Malavai had gutted that moron yet.

Indeed, when he returned to the main room, he spotted his demon scribbling on his clipboard, and the other demon pacing angrily.

Malavai glanced up when Ven’fir entered.

His gaze was sharp and intense.

“Done?” he asked brusquely.

Ven’fir plastered on a smile.

“Yep. Who is your friend?” he asked, noting how Malavai’s lip curled and the redhead stopped his pacing.

The other demon fixed him with a stare.

“If you’re done, get out.” He grunted. “Nothing for you here.”

“Oh, I disagree.” Ven’fir argued, still smiling. “There’s plenty for me here.”

Before the other demon could speak, Ven’fir turned his attention to Malavai.

“Do you want me to Smite him?” he asked, eager. He hadn’t Smote anyone for _ages_.

Malavai blinked, and some tension fell from his shoulders.

“No, thank you.” He murmured, something vindictive glittering in his eyes. “Pierce was just leaving to attend to another Gathering, weren’t you?”

The redhead, Pierce, glowered, his eyes flickering between Ven’fir and Malavai.

“You’ve got yourself a pet angel.” He muttered, sour. “Why am I not surprised?”

His eyes narrowed, the look creating an unpleasant expression on his otherwise handsome face. “Unless it’s not _him_ that’s the pet.” He bit out, a grin curling around his mouth. Ven’fir got the impression he thought he was funny. “You’ve been filling your quota on your knees haven’t you, you fucking whore-“

Ven’fir swore it hadn’t been this hot in the room before, but the dryness of the air and spike in infernal power couldn’t be ignored.

Malavai had his eyes closed, and his grip on his clipboard was white knuckled. His tail lashed against the floor, furious. If that was any indication, he was going to kill the other demon. Or, he would try to, anyway.

Ven’fir kind of wanted him to.

He let a bit more power go, and from the flinch both demons made, it _hurt_.

Good. It was supposed to.

Malavai seemed less affected, and it seemed to bring him back to himself.

Ven’fir just kept smiling, and he knew his Grace was flickering at his shoulders, motes of soft light tugging at his outline. His wings itched.

They hadn’t been manifested in ages.

It was tempting to just Smite this guy and be done with it, but that wouldn’t be fair to Malavai.

He didn’t need someone to wade in a save him.

He just needed to know someone had his back while he took care of his own business.

Malavai levelled an impressively frosty look at the other demon.

“You have a job to do, yes?” he reminded, blue eyes glacial. “You’ve spent so much time telling me how to mine, you’re now late.”

The other demon grimaced.

“Fine.” He muttered, casting a glance at Ven’fir and giving the tiniest of shudders.

“Enjoy him, angel.” He bit out, “I’m sure he’s good for you.”

With a snap of his fingers a large belch of sulphurous hellfire, the other demon was gone.

Ven’fir spared a glance at Malavai, and saw his tense form, how his eyes blazed and the stone set of his jaw.

He was _beautiful_ when he was angry.

Ven’fir wisely didn’t mention this.

Malavai glanced at him.

“I need to deal with the souls.” He bit out, and turned on his heel to head further into the house.

Ven’fir, knowing the demon didn’t want him following, stayed put.

Well.

He listened in, at least.

Some screaming, crying, and two flashes of hellfire later, the demon was stomping back to him, practically alight with fury.

“Done?” Ven’fir asked carefully. Those two souls would have gone nowhere but down, but it couldn’t have been enjoyable to face two souls that had done what they had.

Malavai seemed to deflate at his words.

“Yes.” He murmured, sounding tired. “I’m done.”

He looked like he was about to collapse.

Ven’fir sighed.

“Come on. You're about to fall over and I would feel bad leaving you in this state. Let me make you some coffee or something, and you can get some strength back.”

Malavai looked at him for a moment, intense.

Then he nodded.

“Alright.”

He really must have been drained, to be so agreeable.

Ven’fir gently held his arm, and in a flutter of dancing lights, they were gone.

* * *

Ven’fir had always liked the mortal world.

It was so _interesting._

He kept an apartment there, and that was where he brought Malavai to.

The poor demon looked a little ill from the divine method of travel, just as Ven’fir suspected that he wouldn’t be smiling if Malavai took him along via hellfire.

It was a modest place, out of the way and on the top floor. He made them shitty instant coffee with no milk while Malavai sat awkwardly on the sofa, looking like he might drop from tiredness at any moment.

Ven’fir joined him, passing a colourful mug over as he did so.

Malavai wrapped his hands around it, relishing the warmth.

It should have burned him or been uncomfortable considering the liquid was barely done boiling, but he didn’t seem to notice

Demons didn’t mind heat, be supposed.

“Thank you.”

He glanced up, and his breath caught as blue eyes fixed on his own.

“You didn’t try and save me,” Malavai murmured. “Thank you.”

Ven’fir smiled.

“You don’t need me to wade in and solve your problems for you. If you needed me, you would have said so.”

Malavai seemed taken aback for a moment, his eyes wide and something pleasant on his face.

He nodded, a little overwhelmed.

“I really appreciate that.” He admitted. “Pierce is... well, we do not get along.” He said stiffly, and Ven’fir laughed.

“I noticed.” He said dryly. “What was he doing there?”

Malavai sighed.

“I’m not sure. Perhaps he was behind on quota?” he took a sip of his coffee. “We have different ideas on how work should be done.”

Ven’fir tilted his head.

“You're very thorough. He doesn’t sound like he is.”

Malavai scowled.

“He's _quick_ , but he doesn’t follow procedure. He doesn’t check properly. Think of all the borderlines that he must have sent to the Pit just because it’s easier.”

Ven’fir shuddered.

“I understand. There’s a time for speed, but when dealing with a soul's eternal future, it's better to be sure.”

Ven’fir had an easier job, because sending a bad soul upstairs wasn’t nearly as damaging as sending an innocent one _down._

Ven’fir would take a murderer having a great time in heaven over an innocent mistakenly suffering for eternity.

Malavai nodded. “Exactly. He doesn’t see it that way. He thinks I’m just being pedantic.”

He frowned.

“I would rather not talk about him.” He admitted.

“Fair enough.” Ven’fir smiled, admiring how nice his demon looked when his guard was down.

He was... softer, somehow. It suited him.

“You want to watch a movie?”

Malavai blinked at the sudden offer, surprised.

“Why?”

It was Ven’fir's turn to be surprised. What harm could he possibly do with a movie?

“Because it would take your mind of things, and it would be nice?” he offered, honest.

Malavai considered for a moment, before nodding.

“Alright,” he murmured with a shy smile. “What did you have in mind?”

* * *

Ven’fir had owned many cats over the course of his long existence. They were his favourite animal, and he had yet to find one he didn’t like. Even the funny naked ones were cute.

Therefore, he was more than familiar with the decision he was faced with.

He needed to use the bathroom.

Did he try and ignore it to avoid annoying the creature currently sleeping on top of him, or did he try and escape from under the warm, sleepy embrace?

What a gordian knot.

He sighed, blinking grit from his eyes.

He must have fallen asleep on the sofa at some point, because the television had gone into standby and Malavai was asleep on _him_.

The demon actually looked _peaceful_ , which was a sight to see.

He was splayed out on top of him, half tucked into his side as he slept.

Those horns were thankfully angled away from him, and the tail he was so enamoured with was draped over his knee.

Malavai had finally removed his jacket and shoes after Ven’fir nagged him, only acquiescing when Ven’fir pointed out that one might think him a rude guest for keeping it all on.

Malavai had given him a look, knowing he was full of shit, but done as he had asked anyway.

Ven’fir gazed at him, and his heart swelled with affection. Hid dark hair was ruffled and his eyelashes brushed his cheeks as he slept.

He was so _lovely_.

He was also pressing his not inconsiderable weight on Ven’fir's bladder, and he _needed to go._

With a wince and some careful shuffling, he carefully extricated himself from the sleeping demon.

One quick bathroom break later, he returned to the living room to see Malavai awake and blinking sleepy eyes at him.

Oh. He was adorable when he had just woken up.

Ven’fir sidled over and perched on the arm of the sofa.

“Hello sleepyhead,” he grinned. It was probably late morning, if the sunlight attempting to stream through the blinds was any indication.

Poor Malavai looked quite embarrassed.

“I uh, I apologise.” He muttered, red faced.

Ven’fir scoffed.

“Are you kidding? You fell asleep on me. You made my decade.” He teased. “You're absolutely adorable when you’re asleep, you know.”

Malavai looked ready for the ground to eat him up.

“You watching me sleep is creepy.” He muttered, fingers playing with the cuff of his shirt.

Ven’fir just laughed.

“Maybe. I’m not going to miss out on the chance to see you be so cute, though.” He said honestly. “Now, make yourself at home and all that, I’ll find some breakfast. Bathroom is that way, use the shower if you want.”

A little dazed, Malavai did as he was told.

Breakfast was... lacking.

Ven’fir wasn’t a great cook, and all he had in this particular apartment was cereal and some suspicious milk.

There was juice though, which seemed fine.

Malavai came back to the smell of coffee and Ven’fir popping back in with a harried look on his face and a carton of milk in one hand.

“Borrowed it from 7b.” He explained sheepishly.

7b had been very accommodating. He would need to do something nice for them.

Malavai just snorted, amused.

He peered over, surprised.

“You made coffee.” He murmured.

Ven’fir grinned.

“Sure did. I made yours how you like it. Black, no sugar, right?”

Looking overwhelmed, Malavai nodded.

If he was surprised at someone remembering how he liked his coffee, how many people actually got to know him? The probable answer was a sad one.

Ven’fir handed him the mug with a small smile, his own milky, sweetened drink gently steaming on the counter.

“Thank you,” Malavai said, cheeks pink. “You’ve been kind to me.”

Ven’fir smiled.

“I was hardly going to leave you there,” he assured. “Despite what you seem to think, I care about you.”

Poor Malavai's cheeks went a deeper pink.

“I care about you, too.” He murmured.

Ven’fir blinked.

“I’m just going to clear something here to avoid any confusion.” He began. “I care about you. Romantically. As in, I want to sit and laugh with you just as much as I want to kiss you and bend you over that sofa.”

Malavai's eyes were wide, and Ven’fir suddenly worried that perhaps the direct approach hadn’t been the right one.

Not that he was good at any other way, of course.

The demon, his shirt untucked and collar unbuttoned, looked at him.

“I know.” He murmured. “I know what you meant.” He said, something entering his gaze. “I know what I meant too.”

Ven’fir wasn’t sure if he was hearing this right, but things seemed to be going well enough.

“So... yeah?” He managed, feeling a little untethered. Confessing his feelings hadn’t been on the agenda, but hey, who didn’t like a little spontaneity?

Well, Malavai didn’t.

The demon raised an eyebrow, cheeks pink.

“That's it?” he asked scornfully. “You’ve been hitting on me and chasing me for so long, and the best you can do is ‘ _yeah'_?”

Ven’fir grinned, something warm and soft expanded in his belly and curled around each of his ribs, pleasant and heavy.

“Yeah.” He breathed with a cheeky smile.

He moved closer, and, with more reverence than any demon had probably received, he brushed his fingers along Malavai's cheek.

The demon leaned into the touch; blue eyes wide but not pulling away. Malavai pressed closer, one hand cupping Ven’fir's jaw, the other resting on his shoulder. His eyes dropped to Ven’fir’s mouth.

Stars, he was everything Ven’fir wanted.

Fluttering in his belly making his fingertips tingle, he leaned in and kissed the man in his arms.

Malavai kissed him back, warm and firm and _perfect._

He wasn’t sure how long they were kissing for, only that he never wanted to stop.

It was comfort, familiarity and excitement all rolled into one, and the feeling of that warmth in his arms was addictive.

They parted with deep breaths and stayed close. Malavai gave him a shy little grin that made Ven’fir kiss him again.

The kisses grew hotter and less controlled, and soon the two of them were pressed against the kitchen counters, feverishly getting their hands on one another.

Ven’fir could feel hot fingers tugging at the hem of his top, before they cleverly made their way under it and onto his bare skin.

He ran his palms along Malavai’s sides, enjoying how it made the demon shiver.

They were tangled together, pressed up against eachother so tightly that it was no wonder they could both feel how much the other wanted this.

Panting, they pulled apart.

Malavai's eyes were bright and his hair was rumpled from where Ven’fir had run his fingers through it.

He stayed close, his expression one of amazement, as though he could barely believe this was happening to him at all.

“Hey,” Ven’fir muttered, giddy and drunk of heat and affection. “We can go slow.”

To his surprise, Malavai gave him a look, exasperated and a little sly.

“I think eight hundred years of foreplay is enough, don’t you?” he murmured.

Ven’fir didn’t need to be told twice.

Getting to the bedroom proved interesting, mostly because they didn’t seem able to keep their hands off one another.

Halfway down the hallway, Ven’fir ended up pressed against the wall and thoroughly kissed, his brain turning to little more than a horny glob of jelly, incapable of proper thought.

His belly tickled with want and affection, making him feel light and giddy.

He lost his shirt somewhere on the way, and he managed to get Malavai's buttons half undone and his belt off.

Hot mouths and hands were all he could think of, and he felt desperate for more touch, more kisses, more of _him._ He tasted like bitter coffee and the heat of him seeped through his shirt and into Ven’fir’s palms.

His bedroom was dim and shuttered from the light with how the blinds were drawn, but neither of them seemed to have trouble finding the bed.

Ven’fir backed up until his knees hit the frame and he flopped onto the firm mattress, pulling Malavai with him.

The demon seemed only too happy to straddle him, kissing him like he couldn’t bear the idea of _not._

Ven’fir settled his hands on the demon’s waist, gazing up at him in wonder.

He was flushed and messy, his usually perfect hair rumpled from where Ven’fir had run his fingers through it.

Those horns, curling and glossy black like an addax, swept up and back from his head.

Ven’fir was struck by how elegant they looked, and how sharp they were.

Malavai would not be being the little spoon then.

He reached up and gently touched the raised skin where the horns started, sitting further back on his head than other demons he had seen, buried in his hair.

Each demon was different. Some had large, curled ram horns, others had rows of small stubs. Some were long and straight like an antelope, and others had the classic devils’ horns jutting from their foreheads, or magnificent racks of antlers.

He had even seen one demon with a single horn like a rhino.

He had also known a demon whose hair was kept in such a large afro that it completely obscured her horns.

Tails were similar. They ranged from adorable little fluffy things to large reptilian behemoths to whip thin ones like Malavai's.

It was cute.

Malavai watched him Ven’fir explored his horns. They were clearly well taken care of, just like the rest of him, and Malavai seemed to enjoy the attention. It must have felt nice, like having someone play with your hair. The horns themselves obviously couldn’t feel anything, but where they joined his head seemed to be quite sensitive.

The more Ven’fir did it, the more the demon seemed to relax, going boneless and pleased whenever Ven’fir did something he particularly liked.

Ven’fir was _fascinated._

He could do this forever.

His tail was completely still, flopped over Ven’fir’s leg and onto the bed.

Hmmm.

With a from the demon, Ven’fir withdrew his hands from dark hair peppered with silver at the temples, and watched Malavai come to.

The demon blushed as he realised that he had basically melted under the angel's careful exploration. How cute.

Ven’fir grinned at him, letting one hand settle on Malavai's hip instead. The other played with the buttons of his shirt, half undone.

“You're _lovely.”_ Ven’fir murmured, feeling a rush of warmth when Malavai offered him a shy smile.

The demon shifted his hips just a little too fluidly to be accidental, and pressed close, his mouth brushing the shell of Ven’fir’s ear.

“You're not so bad yourself.” He murmured, voice pitched low and intimate and only a little shy.

Ven’fir felt a shiver work its way down his spine, and his hands gripped harder on the demon’s hips.

With purpose, he moved his hands so he could finish undoing the buttons of his shirt. He got distracted every now and then by how Malavai would lay kisses onto his throat and collarbone, little blooms of heat lingering on his skin as he did so.

Eventually he managed to slip the shirt off, but he didn’t have time to admire as the demon took advantage of his distraction to kiss him again.

He could get lost in those kisses.

When they had to part for air, they stayed close enough to bump noses.

Malavai gave him a little grin, and his hand snaked towards Ven’fir’s belt.

Ven’fir gave him a look, and was more than happy to shimmy out of his jeans, dropping them over the side of the bed.

Malavai looked like he wanted to go over and pick them up to fold them neatly, but Ven’fir kissed him to distract him.

His hands were rough and warm, and the exploring and touching was driving Ven’fir slightly crazy.

It was a lovely feeling, and it made his bones buzz as he enjoyed someone touching him so intimately.

But.

He needed Malavai out of those trousers _immediately._

The lower half of his suit couldn’t have been fun to tussle in, and Ven’fir made short work of his belt.

Malavai was pink cheeked, but kicked off his trousers anyway.

He was shy and lovely like this, his blush spreading over his collarbones and onto the tips of his ears.

He knelt, legs apart and either side of Ven’fir’s hips, his tail slowly shifting in response to his mood.

Ven’fir wanted to try something. With a cheeky grin, he leaned forward and kissed the demon, moving his hands down to settle on his barely clothed behind. By the way Malavai pressed closer to him with a shiver, he liked that.

Engrossed in the kiss, he snuck a hand a little higher to feel where that tail began. As soon as he touched the strange juncture on his lower spine, Malavai jumped.

He pulled back, cheeks crimson and a glare on his face.

Ven’fir looked sheepish.

“Sorry.” He murmured, “I was really curious. I should have asked.”

Malavai's look thawed, and the glare downgraded to ‘stink-eye'. His cheeks were still fuchsia, and he squirmed when Ven’fir squeezed.

“You can touch, but don’t pull.” He said firmly. “It's sensitive.”

Ven’fir kissed him, moving his hands carefully to explore.

The tail was a whip thin thing, prehensile and covered in thin fur. The end was tipped in a small tuft, and it curled when Ven’fir touched it.

The tail itself didn’t seem overly sensitive, but the base where it connected to the test of his body certainly was.

Ven’fir felt Malavai shiver as he mapped out his skin, gently touching.

It felt very intimate, and the boneless way Malavai pressed closer to him didn’t dissuade him of that feeling.

He wondered if Malavai would let him fuck him on all fours one day, so that Ven’fir could see that tail move as he screwed him.

Hmm, those were good thoughts.

Malavai set a palm on his chest and pushed lightly, telling him to stop. He did so, allowing the demon to come back to himself.

He was hazy eyed and messy, looking more relaxed than Ven’fir had ever seen him. His flush spread over his collarbones and to the tops of his shoulders.

One hand was playing with the hem of Ven’fir's underwear.

He leaned in and kissed his throat, dragging his tongue over the skin and making Ven’fir sigh as he skimmed his teeth over the sensitive flesh.

His hand made quick work of Ven’fir's underwear, and soon the angel was gasping as those clever fingers made him lose his breath and curl his toes.

“Fucking _stars_ Malavai,” he managed, thoughts heady and hazy.

He felt the demon smile against his skin, and Ven’fir bit his lip so hard it hurt.

Ven’fir was all but shaking under his demon’s hands, feeling his limbs tingle and a tightness in his belly.

Then, Malavai stopped. Warmth withdrew, and Ven’fir was left blinking as the feeling stalled.

Malavai looked amused at the image of his brain blinking back online.

Ven’fir was about to speak to ask him what he wanted to do, when the demon, a flush on his cheeks and a sly, shy little smile on his face, shimmied his way down Ven’fir’s body until he nestled between his thighs.

_Oh_.

“You don’t have to-" he began, but he was cut off.

“I want to.” Malavai assured, blushing. “I uh, I like it.”

Well then. How could Ven’fir say no to that?

If Ven’fir hadn’t been an angel that counted Heaven as his main residence, he would have said he died and went there in the next few moments.

He cursed and lost his breath, gasping it back as he let his head fall back to expose his throat.

If Malavai kept doing that, he wasn’t going to last long at all.

Seized by a sudden urge to see Malavai work, he opened his eyes and looked down.

That almost finished him off then and there.

The demon was engrossed in his task, and obviously enjoying it.

Stars, it was like it was as much a treat for him as it was for Ven’fir.

His hair was messy and his skin flushed, and Ven’fir could see down the length of his body to where his tail curled lazily on the bed.

Both his hands gripped Ven’fir’s hips to steady himself, and he glanced up to meet Ven’fir’s eyes.

Oh _stars_.

That look was _devastating._

Those storm blue eyes were hazy and dark under his eyelashes, his mouth slick and red as he went to town and refused to break eye contact.

Forget heaven, Ven’fir was _definitely_ going to hell for this.

Malavai did something with his tongue that had Ven’fir biting out a curse and making an unconscious grabbing motion.

When he managed to get back to himself and open his eyes, he saw Malavai giving him a look that said ‘really?’.

Ven’fir felt himself blush, realising he was holding onto the demon's horns for dear life.

He couldn’t help but laugh, letting go with an apologetic brush of his fingers through Malavai's hair.

Oops.

Still, he couldn’t deny that it had sent a thrill of something through him, and resolved to bring it up again later.

You know, when he wasn’t about to go completely _mad_ with sensation.

Malavai did that thing with his tongue again and Ven’fir wasn’t ready for it, with a curse and a gasp and the feeling of his muscles tending up, he slipped over the edge and saw stars.

Blood pounded in his ears, and sensation made him shake. He felt his Grace flicker and manifest as a flutter of light before disappearing again and reappearing in a sparkle of power.

When he finally came back to reality, Malavai was just pulling away, looking shy and a little smug.

Ven’fir caught his breath, staring in wonder at this creature in his bed. He was really going to enjoy repaying the favour.

Gently, he tugged the demon up and, once he had obliged, kissed him.

Malavai relaxed into it, his skin hot and mouth red. Ven’fir was just as bad, boneless and flushed as he was.

When they finally separated, Ven’fir kept him close.

“You’re really something,” he breathed in wonder, affection blooming warm and soft in his belly. It wrapped around his heart like a contented cat, purring so hard his ribs buzzed.

Malavai blushed, but he looked pleased.

“You're not so bad either.” He murmured with a fond, teasing smile. “For an angel.”

[ ](https://ecthel-on.tumblr.com/post/628352850328682496/actual-worst-drawing-ive-made-in-the-past-5)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ven'fir is the least angelic angel EVER. Which is exactly why I wanted to write him as one.
> 
> Someone needs to get him in a white smock, with big fluffy wings and carrying a harp.
> 
> EDIT: The STUNNING artwork is by bigyikes (ecthel-on on Tumblr). Thank you, it looks amazing! ^_^


	5. Arranged Marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ven’fir has intentionally ruined every match his mother has made for him. She finds what she thinks is the least desirable candidate in order to instil some fear into him, but Ven’fir promptly falls head over heels for the stuffy, awkward bachelor.

“Do you have _any_ idea how inconvenient you are?”

Ven’fir raised an eyebrow, lounging on the chaise in front of the window. Sunlight was streaming in, and a cloudless blue sky was tempting him to go out and enjoy it.

He grinned at his mother’s dry tone.

“More than some.” He teased back, “Why, is the reading club gossiping again?”

His mother, Lady Polaris of the esteemed House Polaris, gave him a _look._

“As long as you are alive, I suspect they will never be without gossip, and _I_ will never be without embarrassment.”

He shrugged, not denying it.

“You would be bored without me.”

Her brow furrowed.

“You insulted the Fitzwilliam girl.”

He scoffed, waving a gloved hand dismissively.

“She was boring.” He answered callously. “The little shrew just wanted money.”

His mother looked like she wanted to sigh. She sat like an empress, straight back and perfectly arranged skirts as she pinned him with an eagle’s glare.

“Be that as it may,” she said with the comportment of a woman used to dealing with such things. “You have angered the Fitzwilliams with your… colourful refusal of her affections.”

He sneered, brushing a dark curl from his eyes.

“I tried to be nice.” He said flatly. “She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

His mother sighed.

“Ven’fir… You cannot keep insulting any person of rank who comes to you with intentions for marriage.” She said firmly, shaking her head. “You will have to pick one eventually.”

He glared.

“May that day be a long, long way off.” He muttered. “I have no intentions of marrying someone I don’t actually _like_.”

She gave him a stony look.

“Can you not put aside such childishness? You will grow fond of your husband or wife in time.”

He boggled at her, which only seemed to make her more annoyed. Her lips thinned, and her brows furrowed.

“What if I don’t?” he demanded. “What if you stick me with some little mouse of a wife or a harpy of a husband and I end up hating them?”

Her lip curled minutely.

“Then you will be content that you are at least married, and not frittering away your youth on parties and… undesirable pursuits.”

He paused.

“Undesirable pursuits? I can’t imagine what you mean.” He said airily.

“You _know_ what I mean, boy.”

Ven’fir did know what she meant. The wild parties, the drinking, and his propensity for taking home pretty little things and leaving them in the morning was hardly a secret. He certainly did not hide his desire to have fun, and his reputation as a good time only fuelled the people falling into his bed.

If sons and daughters threw themselves at him, was he really to blame when they could not find a decent match after being seen leaving with him to be thoroughly ravished?

They were all adults; they knew what they were doing.

Well, they knew the theory, in some cases. Ven’fir was happy to teach them. Really, he was providing a service! People should be grateful to him! He taught them all they needed to know and sent them on their merry way on trembling legs, and off to make some young debutante or bachelor’s wedding night.

“The fencing? I know that’s a little risqué for a young man these days, yes?”

His mother simply sat; stone faced.

“Oh, come on,” he defended. “I didn’t even sleep with the Fitzwilliam girl.”

He paused, thinking. “Although I might have nailed her brother.”

His mother’s eye twitched.

“You _will_ find a match.” She said, rising with the grace of a true lady. “Or we will find one for you.”

Ven’fir raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll drive them off too.” He said easily, smiling with just enough venom to be obvious.

Her eyes were stony.

“We will see about that.”

* * *

Four.

Four ‘matches’ later and Ven’fir was about to tear his hair out.

He liked his hair too much to suffer the follicle damage however and restrained himself.

His mother was getting increasingly desperate, it seemed. She was scraping the bottom of the barrel for those willing to marry him that were of the right social class and standing.

The list was running so very low.

Two of them had been so arrogant they put even _his_ ego to shame, one had talked so much that no one, not even Lady Polaris, had been able to get a word in.

The last had been the worst so far.

Lady Briare had been _sleazy._

Ven’fir was hardly pure as the driven snow, but even he shuddered at that lecherous gaze, and felt his skin crawl as she brushed her fingers over the back of his neck, leaning in to mumble compliments in his ear.

He did not think he had been called ‘exotic’ so many times in one sentence before.

He wasn’t really, or at least he didn’t think so. High society fashion was predominantly for the pale skinned and those who cut a waifish figure, whereas his heritage gave him his deep bronze complexion that made him stand out so much. He stood inches above many and filled out his tailcoat and trousers more than most. Broad shoulders meant that his coats tended to need more fabric than the tailors expected.

He kept his hair longer than was probably proper, a mess of dark curls reaching his shoulders. His mother had tried to keep the mop contained by rigorous trimming when he was younger, but all that had done was fuel his desire to _not_ look like the poodle that the short haircuts gave him the look of.

With his stature, darker skin, and light eyes, Ven’fir understood he was considered to be quite striking, but he certainly didn’t need it _panted in his ear_.

Certainly not be someone who kept asking him what ‘the desert' was like.

Was he supposed to have an instinctual knowledge of it? He knew he was adopted, he wasn’t _stupid_ , but really! How was he supposed to know? It was very rude.

He was grumpy and irritated when he snapped at the older woman, slipping out from her questing fingers and biting out something mean.

It had been his worst yet, and his mother had looked horrified and furious.

He didn’t care. He was more than happy to play the boytoy for a night or two, when he was just a bit of fun, but to marry himself into that role? No.

Definitely not.

He was seriously considering running away and becoming a pirate or something (what a ridiculous idea! As if he could survive what the salty air would do to his hair!) when his mother called him down for yet another meet and greet.

With how much she had been holding back a mean smirk, he decided it was probably an established Lord or Lady, looking for a meek little plaything. There had been enough of those for his liking. Ven'fir was neither meek nor little.

He sighed, tying off the white neck cloth around his high collar.

He straightened his waistcoat, a flash of colour and embroidery making it quite the statement. He looked at himself in the mirror, entertaining the idea of waltzing in a state not fit for public viewing, but decided against it.

He hated not looking his best, no matter the situation.

Slipping his favourite rings onto his fingers, he headed for the door, already becoming pre-annoyed at the whole situation.

So, when he got to the bottom of the stairs and found his mother waiting for him, he was surprised.

Usually she wanted to chaperone him into the room lest he make a daring escape (to be fair, he had only done that twice).

Her painted lips pulled into what was definitely smirk, and he was officially concerned.

“Got one of the bridge club kicked out?” he asked snidely, and was _definitely_ concerned when she didn’t even snap at him.

“No. Your visitor is in the receiving room.” She said easily, watching him with a hawkish gaze.

Ven’fir blinked.

“Not in the parlour?”

She shook her head, her powdered nose wrinkling as though she smelled something foul.

“Certainly not.” She said with a hint of a sneer. “I warned you that you would drive away all _desirable_ candidates, and you _have_.”

He stared.

She nodded, pursing her lips.

“He is in the receiving room.” She said stiffly. “At least be on _time.”_

He frowned at her, and headed towards the room he was directed to.

So, she thought she could scare him into submission? Throw a threat to him like a poisoned bone to a dog, hoping he would accept whatever suit this fool offered him?

Gritting his teeth, he pushed open the heavy wood door of the receiving room with more force than was probably necessary.

The man waiting inside was facing the window, and the first thing Ven’fir noticed was that he was dressed extremely plainly. How boring.

The man was tall and slender, and he fiddled with his hat as he looked out to the sprawling gardens of the Polaris estate.

“Good afternoon,” Ven’fir greeted, and the man turned, startled.

Wide blue eyes, dark hair going silver at the temples styled in a conservative, immaculate style, and the prettiest face Ven’fir had seen since he had last looked in the mirror.

His body language was nervous and stiff, and he didn’t hold himself like a member of the society. He held himself like this was not something he was used to, like he was deeply uncomfortable simply existing.

He bowed, and Ven’fir stared.

“Oh, I apologise.” The man said stiffly, his accent clipped and with something to it that Ven’fir couldn’t but his finger on. “I didn’t hear you enter, my lord.”

He spoke like a commoner. That was what was odd about his accent. He was formal and educated, sure, but he wasn’t high society by any means. How _interesting._

Ven’fir shot him a sharp grin.

“Forgiven, if you tell me you name.” He teased.

The man just looked at him, expression deeply discomfited and not a little confused by Ven’fir’s complete lack of social decorum.

“Captain Malavai Quinn, my lord.” He said lowly, lowering his gaze.

_Captain?_

Ven’fir raised his eyebrows.

“And what is your business with me, Captain?”

Quinn fiddled with his hat some more.

“I- I believe I am to get to know you better, my lord.” He said, sounding slightly unsure. “Is that not the point of these ventures?”

Ven’fir had definitely had people be awkward or shy around him, but the strange mix of composure and reserve was oddly appealing.

He was not what Ven’fir had been expecting.

He was definitely older than Ven’fir had imagined from seeing his profile, what with the silver in his hair and lines around his eyes.

He was also clearly a _terrible_ socialite.

Ven’fir smiled at him, and gestured for him to sit on one of the low couches.

Quinn did so, and Ven’fir sat opposite him. His hat now set carefully aside, Quinn's fingers played with the cuffs of his morning coat.

“It is.” Ven’fir allowed, “But I get the feeling you’re not the same as the other prospects my mother has brought before me.”

Quinn looked like he wanted to cringe.

That was a new reaction.

“I’m sure you have noted that I am not of high birth.” He said stiffly, sitting on the chair like he was made of steel. “My family are landed gentry, but we do not have the... means of one such as yourself.”

He averted his eyes.

“As you have no doubt guessed, I serve in the military as an officer.”

Ven’fir gave him a grin.

“I gathered that, yes.” He teased, and the officer flushed pink.

Hm, that was cute.

He was also the _last_ kind of person his mother would have set up for him.

Something was going on here, and Ven’fir wanted to know what.

Ven’fir flashed him the smile that always got a reaction, and he began to talk. He drew the other man into an exchange with difficulty, but eventually they were having a proper conversation. They talked for _hours,_ and Ven’fir hadn’t had this much fun outside of a bed in _years_.

Quinn was aloof, awkward and prim, his careful politeness hiding a mean, sarcastic streak that had Ven'fir laughing more than he expected.

He was _adorable._

Ven’fir was probably the only person who would say that about the prickly officer, but something about him really appealed.

He wasn’t sure if it was the careful demureness that hid more steel than he had expected, or perhaps the strange juxtaposition of shyness and pride that made him so interesting.

He was so _clever,_ Ven’fir wanted to listen to him talk all day.

He was also positively _lovely_ to look at and he blushed like a dream.

What Ven’fir wouldn’t do to have those long legs wrapped around his waist, or that mouth over his as he swallowed his lover’s moans.

Mmmm.

Still, that begged the question of what he was _doing here._

He had obviously been invited to put forward a suit, but Quinn was the absolute last person his mother would approve of. She had kept him in the receiving room, and refused to let him into the parlour, for pity's sake!

Quinn was probably the least desirable candidate-

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Realisation hit Ven’fir like a runaway stagecoach.

Quinn wasn’t an _option;_ he was a _threat._

Marry one of the ones I picked for you, or _this_ is what you’ll end up with.

Quinn was stuffy, awkward, low born and much older than the usual debutantes that had been lined up for him.

Quinn was a _bachelor._

He was surprised his mother even allowed him into the house.

Ven’fir was supposed to be so horrified by the option presented to him, he was to run back to his mother’s skirts and beg her to pick for him.

Poor awkward, stuffy Quinn.

Ven’fir wondered if he knew.

“Captain...” he began, and watched the other man tilt his head. It was an endearing quirk. “Why did you come today?”

The officer stiffened, like he had forgotten to be prim and proper as he had fallen into comfortable conversation.

He looked desperately uncomfortable.

“My mother instructed me to do so. She was very insistent that I attempt to impress you.” He admitted stiffly.

Ven’fir sighed.

“Yes, I thought so.” He murmured. “And where did she get the idea, I wonder?”

Quinn averted his eyes.

“I do not know, but I suspect it was not charity on your house's part that got me through these doors.”

Ven’fir felt sorry for him.

“It wasn’t. I believe my mother wishes to use you as... shall we say, a warning? I have intentionally ruined the high-born matches she has found for me, and she intends to scare me straight.”

The Captain was still, but not surprised.

“I thought something was amiss.” He admitted, his cheeks pink and embarrassment colouring his features. “I just wasn’t aware of what it was.”

He fiddled with his cuff again, shoulders hunched and looking mortified.

“I... I will take my leave then, if you will permit me.” He bit out, and Ven’fir had to stand quickly to catch him as he stood and make motion towards the door like he wanted to run.

His heart clenched.

He caught the other man by his sleeve, stopping him.

Quinn looked back at him with wide eyes

“My lord,” he began thickly, “Please let me make my exit without even more embarrassment.”

Ven’fir sighed, already feeling the first tendrils of fondness and affection curling around his heart.

“I am sorry this happened to you.” He did honestly. “It was cruel.”

Quinn looked away, suddenly looking very tired.

“That is kind of you to say,” he sighed, exhaustion and frustration in his tone. “But that does not make me feel better.”

Ven’fir smiled, and it was sly.

“Maybe not. But this might.” He murmured, stepping closer.

Without waiting for the man to bolt on him, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Quinn flinched back, expression so adorably baffled that Ven’fir had to grin.

“What is the meaning of this?” the Captain demanded, forgetting protocol. He scowled. “I will not accept _pity.”_

Ven’fir shook his head.

“I accept.” He said with a grin.

Quinn blinked.

“Pardon?”

Grin widening, Ven’fir pressed closer again.

“I accept your suit, Captain Quinn.”

The officer boggled at him, and Ven’fir wanted to laugh.

“I- _what?”_

Ven’fir, deeply amused, nodded.

“I want to marry _you_.” He said bluntly.

Quinn's eyes were huge in his face and his cheeks were pink.

“ _Why?_ ” He asked, honestly baffled. “No one else has ever wanted to marry me, why would you? I’m old, boring, plain and I don’t hold claim to any estates or anything of value.”

Ven’fir blinked at him.

“Well, I don’t care about any of that.” He assured, waving a hand. “I think you’re cute.”

The Captain looked at him helplessly, and Ven’fir felt the urge to wipe that confused expression off his face with a hug.

Something seemed to click for Quinn, and his expression turned cold.

“My Lord,” he began stiffly, pulling his arm from Ven’fir’s grasp. “I will not be a _consolation prize_ , for you or anyone.”

He seemed incensed.

“And I refuse to be _used_ as a tool for your rebellion.” He all but snarled, shyness being replaced with anger.

Ven’fir shook his head, stomach lurching with the idea that Quinn probably thought him the kind of person to marry and then carry on with his numerous affairs while his spouse sat alone at home.

“I’m not asking you to be.” He said, trying to calm the other man. “I won’t deny that it doesn’t appeal to me, subverting my mother's plan like this, but... I really do like you.” He sighed. “I told her I would never marry someone I didn’t like, no matter how much money or status they had.”

He watched as Quinn listened to him, expression closed off.

“And I won’t. I cannot spend my life with someone I don’t get along with.” He said passionately. “If I am to marry, it will be to someone that makes me _smile_.”

He gave the Captain a tired little grin.

“Do you know that you’re the first suitor to make me laugh?”

Quinn looked horrified.

“That's... sad.” He murmured, and Ven’fir shrugged.

“It is rather.” He smiled. “So yes, I do choose you. We can get to know each other more later, and if we decide to break it off...” he waved a hand. “I’ll follow my original plan to run away to become a pirate.” He winked.

Quinn tilted his head, sighing.

“Well, I can’t say that getting away from my mother wouldn’t be satisfying.”

Ven’fir nodded, feeling hope bubble in his belly. “Imagine moving out, getting our own place and living independently.” He sighed, wistful. “That would be wonderful.”

Quinn looked at him shrewdly.

“And you’re not just stringing me along for a joke?”

That he even had to ask was sad. Had he been the butt of a cruel joke before? His expression said he probably had.

Ven’fir shook his head.

“No. If I wanted to play a joke on you, I would colour your neckties blue or change your pocket watch to an hour ahead, not plan an elaborate marriage sham.”

Quinn eyed him beadily, and Ven’fir got the impression he was being judged.

The Captain’s cheeks flushed, and he gave a tiny smile.

“Then I accept.” He murmured, and Ven’fir wanted to sing.

Without thinking, he hugged the other man, feeling him stiffen under the touch. He drew back, beaming.

“Oh, we are going to have so much fun.” He laughed.

Quinn looked uncertain.

“If you say so.” He said with doubt.

Ven’fir smirked and stepped closer.

Quinn looked quite concerned by his hungry expression, and his cheeks began turning a deeper pink.

He stood his ground however, watching Ven’fir’s every move.

Ven’fir brushed his fingertips over the other man’s lapel.

“You know, I’ve been thinking of all the _fun_ things I could do with you for a while.” He murmured.

Quinn stared.

“If you’re implying what I think you are, we met _hours_ ago.” He stressed with no small amount of incredulity. “And this is your _mothers receiving room_.”

He seemed horrified by the very idea of such impropriety, but seemingly not by the idea of the acts themselves. That was a good sign.

“Darling,” Ven’fir murmured with a smile, filing away how Quinn seemed to like the pet name, “I’ve done more with those I know less, and in worse places.”

The officer raised his eyebrow.

“I know your reputation. Is that supposed to be impressive?” he asked, and Ven’fir winked.

“Yes. Because I’ve got a lot to show you, and I’ll let you imagine what we’ll get up to when I’m your husband.” He purred. “You’ll have me all to yourself.”

Quinn swallowed hard; expression pained.

Ven’fir knew he was a tease. It was so much _fun._

“Besides,” he murmured, pressing closer. Quinn didn’t react, but he also didn’t pull away. He seems drawn to the contact, and Ven’fir wondered if he was as needy for touch as he seemed. Ven’fir could feel the heat of him through their clothes. “My mother doesn’t think much of you, and she’s made it obvious. I think deflowering her son in her receiving room would make for some satisfying revenge, don’t you think?”

Quinn gave him a look, not diminished by how he was biting his lip.

“You were deflowered long before you met me.” He muttered, and Ven’fir laughed softly. “And I can’t believe you’re suggesting this.”

Ven’fir shrugged, trailing his fingertips along the edge of Quinn’s starched collar, occasionally brushing warm skin with a feather light touch.

“Mmm, I _am_ though.” He purred, pressing himself flush with the older man and letting his mouth brush the shell of his ear. “And who knows when we’ll next get to be alone once we break the news?”

Quinn considered this, his resistance crumbling.

“I- It’s not _proper_.” He managed, his hands coming up to rest instinctually on Ven’fir’s waist. His touch was light and tentative.

“Fuck being proper.” Ven’fir whispered against his mouth, before kissing him soundly.

After a moment of hesitation, Quinn kissed him back.

* * *

Ven’fir heard his mother enter the study a few days later, the sounds of her rustling skirts heralding her arrival.

She made a small noise of surprise at seeing him sitting on the floor, surrounded by papers.

“What are you doing up so early?” she asked, lip curling at how he sat, cross legged and dressed casually.

He beamed at her, injecting as much sunny happiness into his expression as he could.

His mother instantly looked wary.

“I’m picking flower arrangements.” He said airily. “I like those orange lilies, but I’ve heard they can make people sneeze.”

She stared at him.

“I see.” She murmured slowly, “Why are you engaging in such an activity, and why at this hour?”

“Well, I got up early because I was so excited!” he grinned, standing up and making his way to her. His shirt had its top buttons undone and exposed far more skin than was proper, even at home.

He smiled, beatific.

“I must thank you, mother. You were right, _of course._ ”

Her expression was of such potent bafflement, he had to stop himself from laughing.

“Regarding?” she asked dryly, giving him a searching look.

“Why, marriage of course!” he sighed, smiling joyfully. “I have decided that I will, in fact, marry.”

Her surprised was evident, her eyes widening and her mouth forming a tiny ‘o’.

“I did say you would come to your senses,” she said, smugness radiating from her every pore. “It’s good to see that you have finally accepted that marriage is the best thing for you.”

Ven’fir nodded earnestly. “Oh yes, I’m so excited!” he gushed, feeling giddy. “I think an autumn wedding would be stunning and wonderfully vogue. I wouldn’t want Malavai to burn in the sun, after all.” He waved a dismissive hand. “He’s ever so pale, I would feel terrible if he caught the sun.”

His mothers gaze had sharpened, and her expression was brittle.

“Malavai?” she repeated carefully, as if she was hoping she hadn’t heard what she thought she had.

Ven’fir pretended not to notice.

“Hmm? Oh yes, I accepted Captain Quinn’s suit.” He beamed. “I must thank you for setting that up by the way. He’s everything I could possibly want. He’s _perfect_.”

He punctuated his gushing with a breathy, longing sigh. His mother’s expression could have curdled milk.

“We are very much in love.” He assured her like her face didn’t look like she had smelled something foul. “He’s such a gentleman too, he was quite shy!”

Until Ven’fir had kissed him senseless against the bookshelf, before manhandling him back to the sofa so he could get a hand down his pants. Malavai hadn’t seemed quite so shy then, hiding his noises in the crook of Ven’fir’s neck and shuddering as he held onto him. He had insisted on returning the favour, and Ven’fir was more and more convinced that this was the _best_ idea.

His mother was silent.

He smiled, turning up the glowing happiness to maximum.

“Thank you,” he said earnestly, adding a hint of wide-eyed wonder. God he was good at this. Maybe he should take up acting? “I wouldn’t have been able to find him without you.”

His mother’s eye twitched, and Ven’fir congratulated himself on a job well done.

He held to his words from their first meeting.

This would be _so_ much fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Ven and Mal marry in a lovely ceremony that confuses everyone, and proceed to live a life of comfortable but not wealthy means as Ven'fir gets himself cut off almost immediately. Mal retires from the military, and promptly takes up writing. Ven'fir attends parties, gambles and generally makes a nuisance of himself as they both live out their days setting high society alight with gossip and generally being teeth-achingly sweet with eachother.
> 
> The end.
> 
> After the previous 'Angels and Demons' chapter, this is quite hard to write!


	6. Bakery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malavai and Ven’fir run competing bakeries opposite each other.

The smell of vanilla and sugar was calming.

To Malavai, it put him in a calm place, one where he only had to think about his technique and his next step.

Pleased with the texture of the powdered sugar he had been sieving, he began to cream the butter and sugar together.

Too little power and it would start to get runny before it combined, too much and it would go past the ‘whipped' consistency and that wasn’t good.

This was a very simple cake, more for fun than art, although it was definitely going on sale today. It was a delicate earl grey and poppy seed cake, topped with immaculately smoothed dove grey buttercream and a bouquet of purple buttercream peonies.

It wouldn’t be a Quinn creation without attention to detail and flawless decoration.

Later, as he carefully piped his buttercream peonies on the top of the level surface of his cake, he heard the door to the front of the shop open.

It was very early, and while he preferred to use the early morning to get some work done, he knew his employees were not so inclined.

Jaesa accompanied Broonmark into the front of the shop, and Malavai could hear them talking as they settled in.

He finished with the darker violet flowers, and moved on to the pale purple ones that faded into white at the edges.

Jaesa stepped in, already in her uniform and with her hair tied back with a net and her gloves on. Broonmark followed her, silent and moody as usual.

“Good morning.” Jaesa greeted pleasantly, moving to watch him.

“I wish I could do flowers like that,” she murmured. “Those are lovely.”

He sent her a small smile, although didn’t stop working.

He liked Jaesa. She was capable and kind and took no shit from anyone, which was essential when working with Broonmark.

“You’re better with flavour than I am,” he said simply, “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t ever do new combinations.”

She smiled demurely, but he could see that she was pleased.

Broonmark was already getting his station set up and beginning to work, the grumpy man happy to do his job is moody silence.

Malavai didn’t mind. He was good at his job even though he was fresh from culinary school. He didn’t speak much English, but Malavai had taught himself a few words to better work with the man.

“I’m going to get everything sorted before I open up,” Jaesa smiled, “I’ll remember to check the calendar this time.”

Malavai just nodded, engrossed in piping his three-tone buttercream leaves to perfection.

Amused, Jaesa went to prepare for the day.

Malavai lost himself in his work as he used a brush to apply diffused shimmer to his edible flowers and listened to Jaesa setting up the shop and Broonmark fiddling with the oven.

He much preferred to work in the back than to dealing with customers, even though the clientele of his little corner of the street was specialised.

They might not sell the volume that some bakeries did but considering the level of craftsmanship that went into each one, the price meant that they didn’t need to.

When someone wanted a bespoke showstopper, the came to him.

His shop reflected that; the classical, elegant style of the interior reminded him more of a high-end designer boutique than a traditional bakery. Lots of white space and expensive looking accents, wooden floor and fancy, minimalist decor made for a very particular experience. Personally, he liked the efficient, clean cut look.

Jaesa was much better with customers than he was, and he couldn’t deny that a pretty face on the shop floor helped sales.

Still, he had to come out eventually so poor Jeasa could work on her own commission, and after a few hours he reluctantly took the shop floor.

Customers drifted in, drawn by the colourful, elegant creations in the window. Most were simply curious and soon left when they realised that they weren’t going to find a quick bite or last-minute bargain celebration cake, but others came in with purpose.

He took orders for three birthday cakes and an anniversary cake, all with awfully specific ideas on what they wanted the themes to be. That was fine, he was as happy to work within strict parameters as he was creating his own designs. Well, so long as no-one tried to get him to make _caterpillar cake_.

He had _standards._

There was a lull in customers for the moment, so he busied himself penning designs for the anniversary cake, playing with the idea of having a cascade of golden honeycomb hexagons down one side, for the beekeeper couple celebrating their golden wedding anniversary. Hmm, he could use edible gold leaf for that too, or perhaps the paint would work better?

“-should try across the road. They have stuff you actually like, eat.”

He glanced up, spotting two women who he had previously missed who were peering at one of Jaesa's chocolate artworks.

He frowned.

He wanted to go over to them and tell them that although were welcome to fuck off over the road thank you very much, but he didn’t.

He watched them hurry out of the door and sighed.

It would be lunchtime soon, and while _his_ establishment didn’t serve snacks, the one over the road _did_.

Maybe he would go over there for lunch. It wasn’t really his kind of place, a small café that served things like ‘ultra-brownies’ and ‘rainbow fairy unicorn cupcakes’ from a counter that had more colour and glitter on it than a pre-teen’s birthday party. It really wasn’t his kind of style.

His stomach grumbled and, regretting having forgotten to pack his usual packed lunch, he sighed. One more hour, and then he would head out.

* * *

Ven’fir _loved_ his job.

“I call it... the _Double Chocolate Triple Cream Cinnamon Calorie Massacre_!”

He beamed, gesturing to his monstrous creation.

Pierce scratched his jaw.

“Well, it'll be a massacre alright.” He sighed, “I think I got diabetes just looking at that thing.”

Vette squinted at it.

“That thing is _ridiculous.”_ She said flatly. Her face changed into a delighted grin. “I _love_ it.”

Ven’fir grinned, proud of himself.

The hot chocolate in front of him truly was a monster of a confection, with melted chocolate and hot milk making up the bulk of the experience, it was topped with a mountain of whipped cream, chocolate curls, ganache, marshmallows and a Flake jammed into the top of it. It was, as Vette had said, ridiculous.

It was his new favourite thing.

“Right crew,” he announced, “We’ve got shit to bake, paninis to toast and coffee to percolate! Chop chop!”

Vette, her hair done in her usual twin braids, bounced off to man the coffee station. She was the best barista he knew, and the worst baker. Thankfully, she was more than content being his taste tester.

Pierce oversaw their more savoury items and was a welcome addition to their ragtag crew. Fresh out of prison and with a passion for sausage rolls, cheese twists and toasted sandwiches, he had been grateful and pleasantly surprised at how eager Ven’fir had been to hire him.

Ven’fir loved his work, and he was of the firm belief that baking could be anything you wanted it to be. Baking was supposed to be _fun_ , and the treats on his counter reflected that.

His cakes came in every colour of the rainbow and were usually overloaded with edible glitter and fun decorations. His flavours got creative, and he was firmly of the belief that some things (like chocolate chips or cinnamon) were measured with the heart.

Ven’fir was a ‘dash of this’ and a ‘sprinkle of that’ kind of guy.

Pfft, who bothered measuring stuff like that anyway? Nerds, that’s who.

Indeed, the monstrous creation that was sitting in front of him was an experiment, and he sipped on it while he perused the orders due to be made today.

Cheery music filtered through the speakers recessed into the brightly painted walls, and the low hum of people talking as they drank their coffee and ate their snacks was comforting.

He hummed as he set out a tray of aggressively bright macarons under the glass protector and enjoyed the atmosphere.

His shop was newly opened, only having its doors open for a year or so. Ven’fir had enough money to finance the thing himself after a successful but ultimately soul crushing career as a barrister for his family's firm, during which he put his uncanny sense of when people were lying to him to work. He was rewarded with accolades, money, and the heavy feeling that he was wasting his life.

He had always loved to _make_ things.

He _loved_ sweet treats.

So, with absolutely no formal training and driven by the desire to make people happy with what he could make, he threw himself into baking.

It turned out that he was quite good.

Then he practised more and ‘quite good' turned into ‘very good'.

When the opportunity came around to buy the shabby, empty cafe in a prime location, he threw money at it and it became his.

The feeling when he had stepped inside the building that he now owned had been indescribable, and it filled him with a new wave of purpose.

He could make this work.

He had immediately began designing the interior and, with a little help from some people he'd found with good reviews online, made it reality. He painted, sanded, drilled, and hauled.

It had taken a while, but the tired old interior had been transformed into a modern, bright, and cheery place to be.

To begin with, he had done a lot of things himself.

He had made the menu, which at the time had consisted of cake and a few savoury items. He taught himself how to use the coffee machine, and after many burns and a lot of videos, was confident enough in handling basic orders.

It really helped having a ridiculous amount of money, he had mused as he took delivery of his new outdoor lighting. It would really make the name pop.

On the day of opening, he was beside himself.

He had gotten up at four in the morning to whip up a last minute funfetti victoria sponge, just in case.

He opened his door, simultaneously posting on all the social media networks that he had set up for the shop and sat down to wait.

A few people tricked in, drawn by the bright exterior and pleasant smells wafting from inside.

The chalk board proclaiming an opening day deal probably didn’t hurt either.

Week one was quiet.

Week two was busier.

By week four, Ven’fir was overwhelmed.

He kept going.

After almost a year of insanity, he called it.

He couldn’t do this alone.

The shop was popular.

Far, _far_ too popular.

He needed staff.

With purpose in his mind, he asked around his friends for anyone who might be interested.

His friendship group were the city professional kind from his days in law and didn’t have anyone in mind.

He posted notices in his window and posted online.

He was inundated with responses, which was good.

Most of them didn’t have immediate experience, which was bad.

Maybe when he was more established he could start training from the ground up, but right now he needed people who could get going immediately.

Then a young woman with blue hair and an attitude walked through his door, told him she was the best barista he had ever seen, and told him she would prove it.

Bemused, he let her try.

She had been right, and Vette had joined his team.

Weeks later, when he had taken most of the notices down, he got a phone call.

He must have left one up, somewhere.

It was a parole officer, asking about his willingness to potentially employ a man just out of prison, who needed a job and already knew how to cook.

Ven’fir shrugged and said he didn’t mind.

So, Pierce had lumbered into his shop with a tired expression and the look of a man that was primed for rejection.

Ven’fir was a physically powerful man, but Pierce _towered_ over him. He was several inches taller than Ven was and looked like he could snap most people in half and floss with their spine. Still, Ven’fir greeted him with an easy grin and the confidence of a man that was used to handling whatever was thrown at him. Pierce seemed to appreciate that.

Ven’fir interviewed him, decided that he wasn’t bad, and promptly hired him to handle the savouries.

Pierce had turned up to his first day of work looking immaculate and pretending he wasn’t excited.

The tall redhead had an attitude that Ven’fir didn’t always like, but they got along well enough when they agreed on things.

Still, the longer the man worked with Ven’fir the more his attitude seemed to mellow, and soon he was part of the team and churning out sausage rolls, chorizo-cheese turnovers and creative sandwiches like nothing made him happier.

The parole officer contacted Ven’fir often and seemed genuinely overjoyed at how much Pierce seemed to be enjoying his job, and how much calmer and happier he seemed.

Ven’fir was happy to take partial credit for that.

Eventually he headed to the back to get to work on a batch of lavender and honey cupcakes and lost himself in his work.

When he realised it was time to let Vette take her break, he was just putting the last cake into the tray, ready to bring out in the afternoon.

He liked floral flavours, and the lavender flavoured sponge went really well with the honey buttercream, sprinkled with edible lavender pods and dusted with shimmer.

It smelled good too, which was always a good sign.

Popping a cover over the tray to keep the cakes fresh, he washed up and headed for the shop floor to relieve Vette.

“-such a _snob.”_

“Why is he here? I don’t like it.”

Ven’fir tied his apron and headed out to the counter.

“Hey,” he greeted Vette and Pierce as the last customer in line collected their order and went to find a seat. “What's going on?”

Vette shrugged as she cleaned off the coffee machine without thinking about it. Her hands were so quick and practised that Ven’fir could barely follow them.

“He's back again,” she grunted, jerking her chin over to the corner. “That guy who owns that posh place over the road.”

Amused, Ven’fir glanced over and, just as she had said, spotted the man in question.

He hummed, amused.

“Oh, _him_.” He nodded, watching Pierce restock the sausage rolls with a fresh batch.

“Yeah" she sniffed. “He's got a stick up his ass. I don’t get why be needs to come in here and ruin the vibe. Is he scoping out the competition or something?”

Ven’fir shrugged. “I doubt it. Different clientele, wouldn’t you say?”

Vette made a face. “He's still fucking weird.”

Ven’fir grinned.

“Then I’ll serve his table, so you don’t have to. How does that sound?”

She blinked at him, surprised. Ven’fir had never enjoyed waiting on tables. He was always worried that he would drop something.

“Well, if you don’t mind.” She murmured, “He looks the kind to put a complaint in if his sandwich isn’t at a perfect forty-five-degree angle.”

Ven’fir laughed and took the tray. Tea, a sandwich and one of the salted caramel and chocolate cupcakes he had made that morning.

With a wink to Vette and Pierce, he headed for the table in the corner.

When he glanced back, Vette and Pierce had their heads together in gossip, and he sighed.

Those two were terrible influences on each other.

He approached the pale man, who was tapping away on his phone. His glasses had slipped a little way down his nose, and he looked bored.

“Your order, sir?” he said with a grin as he saw him jump slightly.

“Oh, thank you.” He murmured, glancing up to meet Ven’fir's eyes. He smiled, and it softened his face.

“Oh no, thank _you_.” He said as he added a little purr to his voice, watching as pink spread over the other man’s cheekbones.

“I’ve not seen you waiting tables before,” the paler man commented idly. “A little low brow for the owner, yes?”

Ven’fir smirked at him as he set each item down on the table.

“I like to get stuck in,” he replied. “I’m no snob.”

Blue eyes sharpened as the ‘unlike _some'_ went unsaid.

“Well, I’m sure it's more your speed.”

Ven’fir raised an eyebrow, folding his arms.

“Nothing wrong with waiting tables.” He murmured.

The other man gave a little grin, quick and sharp.

“Of course not. Especially in a place like this.”

“And what do you mean by _that?”_

“Nothing. It's simply very... quaint.”

“Unlike that soulless place of yours?”

“My establishment deals in _art_.”

“You sell _confectionary.”_

“ _Artistic_ confectionery.”

“Baking is about having fun. Not that you’d know anything about _that_.”

“It's about precision and pride in your work, something I doubt you’re familiar with.”

“You’re a snob.”

“And you have no class."

They held each other’s gaze for several moments, heat making Ven’fir's skin prickle.

He laughed, and the other man couldn’t help the sly smile on his own face.

With a soft grin, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the other man’s mouth, lingering and gentle.

He kissed back, and Ven’fir could feel his smile.

He pulled back, peripherally aware that Vette and Pierce were staring at him.

Malavai's hand lingered on his arm, the ring on one slender finger shining a dull gunmetal against his pale skin.

“You're an ass.” Ven’fir said fondly, and Malavai looked amused.

“So are you." His partner pointed out. “Your staff are about to combust.”

Ven’fir smirked.

“Serves them right. Enjoy your lunch, sweetheart.” He winked, and Malavai chuckled, relaxing into the patterned chair.

“I’ll see you at home.” He murmured, smiling.

Ven’fir winked at him again and headed back to where Vette was staring at him.

“What?” he asked as she opened and closed her mouth with no sound coming out.

“You! And him!” she managed, outraged. “And you let me talk shit about him every time he's come in here!”

Ven’fir shrugged, a smile playing about the corners of his mouth.

“Well, I was curious what you thought about him. Besides,” he waved a hand. “He _is_ a bit of a prick.”

“You could have told us he was your boyfriend!”

“Husband.” he corrected with a sly grin.

“… You're _married?!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Malavai and Ven go home and have a grand old laugh at Vette and Pierce's expense, before heading home and being disgustingly domestic together.
> 
> It was Malavai who helped Ven get his shop up and running, and two of them bicker over their wildly different styles constantly. It's their way of flirting, and it sickens everyone who hears it.
> 
> Also, I run a bit of a side gig as a baker (I test my new creations on my poor, unsuspecting colleagues), and everything mentioned in this chapter is something I have previously made. Therefore, if anyone is interested in the recipe for something they like the sound of, let me know and I'll be more than happy to provide it. :) The honey and lavender cupcakes are particularly badass, if I do say so myself.
> 
> Double Chocolate Triple Cream Cinnamon Calorie Massacre is also one of my own creations, and it is RIDICULIOUS.


	7. BDSM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malavai and Ven’fir, an established couple, take a BDSM quiz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in the same universe as Sun Dog (the modern human AU), but there is no need to have read that before this one. 
> 
> I found this idea as a challenge on Tumblr, and have adapted it for this prompt because it looked fun.
> 
> Bascially, Ven and Mal talk about getting kinky. ;)
> 
> A gentle reminder: This is fictional, and meant for entertainment purposes only. The characters here are intended to be fairly realistic, which means they can be wrong, confused, or misunderstand things. They are written to be fallible and to have their own thoughts and opinions that may not reflect my own or those reading. :)

Ven’fir yawned as he stretched, feeling extremely comfortable.

He was warm, content and a little tipsy, and he had Malavai curled up on the sofa with him.

His partner was cuddled up with him, his long legs tangling with Ven’fir’s as he turned a page of his book.

Ven’fir absently pressed a kiss to the top of his head, netting him an approving noise and a small sigh.

Ven’fir was scrolling through his phone, lazily doing nothing for a while.

They were relaxing after a long day, and a mostly empty bottle of wine sat on the coffee table next to them. Malavai had his glass in his hand as he read, and he took a sip as he turned another page.

It was quiet in their apartment, the sound of rain lashing against the windows coupled with the throaty purr of the cat that was curled up at their feet made for a very pleasant atmosphere.

Something popped up on Ven’fir’s phone as he scrolled, and he clicked on it, interested.

Huh.

He played around with the site that he had been directed to for a moment before grinning.

“Hey babe,” he murmured, giving Malavai a squeeze as the older man made a curious noise. “Got something to show you.”

Malavai hummed and shifted onto his side so that he could look at Ven’fir. His eyes were soft and relaxed, and his dark hair was ruffled from where Ven’fir had been running his fingers through it.

“Look,” Ven’fir said as he shoved the phone in his boyfriend’s face. Malavai wrinkled his nose and pushed the phone back a few inches so that he could read what was on the screen without his glasses.

He had been thinking of wearing contact lenses more often, but Ven’fir had managed to talk him out of it. He liked seeing Malavai with his glasses on. It gave him a distinguished air that, combined with his generally put-together look, gave Ven’fir lots of _ideas._

“BDSM test?” Malavai read slowly, before shifting to give him a look. “Seriously?”

Ven’fir grinned.

“Sounds like fun, right? I want to find out what kind of deviant it thinks you are.”

Malavai’s cheeks went faintly pink.

“You already know.” he muttered. “I don’t think you need a quiz for that.”

Ven’fir smirked and kissed his temple. “Yeah, but I’m curious and it’ll be fun.”

Malavai sighed.

“Alright, but as long as you don’t share the results anywhere.”

Ven’fir, pleased that he got his way, clicked the button to start the quiz.

“Okay, what’s your gender?” he asked, and laughed when Malavai sighed.

“You’re an idiot. Male.”

“Great, me too.”

A sly smile made its way of Ven’fir’s face.

“Age category?”

Malavai’s brows knitted together, expression turning sour.

“You already know, you prick.”

Ven’fir smirked and selected ’36 to 40’.

“And your sexual orientation?”

“Bisexual.”

“Pansexual, cool.”

“Okay,” he began, peering at his screen. “It goes from ‘absolutely disagree’ to ‘neutral’ to ‘absolutely agree’. First one!”

Malavai sighed and made himself comfortable. He closed his book and rested his chin on his folded arms, looking up at Ven’fir through his lashes.

“’I like to be dominated, especially in the bedroom.’” He read out, and smirked. “Well, I know where you are on there.”

Malavai went pink.

“ _Only_ in the bedroom, thank you very much.” He said primly. “Go for agree.”

Ven’fir shrugged. “And I’m not quite so fond, but it can be fun sometimes. Let’s go with just above neutral for me.”

“’I like receiving pain during sex/BDSM and seeing the results of it (marks/bruises, makeup running by tears, etc.) afterwards.’ Ooh, this one is a good one.”

Malavai sighed. “I don’t necessarily like too much pain, but uh, I do quite like seeing the state you put me in afterwards.” He said with a blush.

“I don’t like pain, and I’m not really fussed on marks on me either.” Ven’fir admitted, before selecting their answers.

“’If I could make some money from selling porn clips of myself, I definitely would.’” He read out loud, and Malavai shook his head.

“Absolutely not.” He said quickly. “I would be too embarrassed.”

Ven’fir chuckled. “We would make a mint though, considering how lovely you look in the moment.”

Malavai poked him, and he laughed.

“I would definitely do it. I like the idea of people getting off to me.” He shrugged, ignoring Malavai’s muttered ‘of course you would’.

Ven’fir raised his eyebrow at the next question.

“’I don't have any sort of specific fetish or non-standard sexual turn-on.’”

He paused to think. “I don’t think so? I like your glasses, does that count? You look like a sexy professor in those.”

Malavai raised his eyebrows. “As opposed to the deeply unsexy professor I really am?” he teased.

Ven’fir snorted. “You know you’re stunning, and I want to do inappropriate things on your desk.”

“Really? I can’t recall you _ever_ mentioning that.” Malavai drawled, sarcastic. “I’m so surprised.”

Ven’fir prodded him, and Malavai laughed.

“Right, so neither of us have that. Next one, you arse.” He grinned. “’If I could not fulfil all of my partner's sexual desires, I would encourage them to see other people to fill the gaps.’”

He read the question out loud and frowned.

“Hm, I’m not sure about this one. I mean… do I get to be there? In which case, hell yeah. I’m not very possessive regarding sex. If you want something that I can’t give you, I wouldn’t mind if you got it elsewhere.” He admitted. “As long as it wasn’t kept a secret, obviously.”

Malavai looked conflicted.

“I… I’m not sure I would be alright with that.” He admitted. “It would make me feel like I was inadequate in some way, if you wanted to go elsewhere.”

Ven’fir gave him a little squeeze.

“That’s alright. Not that it matters though, I think we’re quite enough for one another.”

Malavai nodded, giving a small smile.

“’I want my partner to serve me and address me as a superior.’” Ven’fir read out and wrinkled his nose. “No.”

Malavai shook his head. “That’s a no from me too.”

“That’s an easy one then.” He peered at his phone, and then beamed. “Aw, this is a good one. ‘I could be sexually submissive now and be sexually dominant another time.’ Yeah, that’s definitely true. I like to switch sometimes, even if I tend to prefer to be in charge.”

Malavai nodded, a little smile playing about the corners of his mouth. He was absently tracing patterns under Ven’fir’s t-shirt, and his slim fingers felt good on Ven’fir’s skin.

“I’m the same as you, only I tend to prefer it when I can let you take the lead.” He admitted, pink settling over his cheeks.

Ven’fir input the results and moved onto the next page.

“’I am willing to try anything once, even if I don't think I will like it.’ Yeah, that’s me.” He said easily. “I like trying new stuff.”

Malavai shook his head. “I tend to need to be coaxed into trying new things.” He admitted. “You know that. I don’t like risk very much.”

Ven’fir chuckled and carded his fingers through Malavai’s greying hair. His partner closed his eyes and let a shiver race down his spine.

“That’s okay. You’re not _totally_ against trying new things, I just need to convince you.” He murmured.

Malavai gave him a soft smile.

“It helps that I know you’ll stop if I ask you to.” He admitted, and Ven’fir brushed his knuckles over his cheekbone.

“Always.” He assured quietly, fond. He scrolled down.

“’I enjoy feeling like a prey hunted by a predator.’” He wrinkled his brow, trying to think. “I dunno about this one. I mean, it sounds like it would be hot, but I’m not sure if it’s something I would enjoy enough to put the effort into, you know?”

Malavai nodded. “I’m not sure it’s for me. I wouldn’t say no to trying it,” he admitted. “But the idea of it doesn’t make me want to give it a go right now or anything.”

Ven’fir nodded. “Perhaps one to try some day, then? If it sucks, then we can just screw like normal.”

Malavai sighed.

“You’re so classy.” He mumbled, shifting again to get comfortable.

Amused, Ven’fir continued.

“’I would like to have sex with multiple people at the same time.’” He grinned. “Now we’re talking. That’s a big yes from me. I’ve done it before, and it was awesome.”

Malavai had gone noticeably quiet, and his cheeks were turning from pink to fuchsia.

Ven’fir peered at him, a slow smile growing on his face.

“Oh, have we stumbled upon a kink?”

Malavai, embarrassed and awkward, averted his eyes.

“I uh, I like the idea of people wanting me, so long as it’s all safe.” He mumbled, and Ven’fir brushed his hand down his side to calm him, which worked. “So um, yes. That’s a yes from me.”

Ven’fir tilted his head. “If that something you might like to try one day, or something you would prefer to stay as fantasy?”

The older man didn’t seem to know how to respond. Eventually, he shifted.

“I’m not sure.” He admitted. “If it was to happen, I would want you to organise it.” He said, and the intensity of his gaze took Ven’fir’s breath away. “I trust you, and I… I know you’d make me feel safe.”

Affection curled up in his belly like a contented cat, warm and soft.

“Of course.” He whispered, “I wouldn't let anything happen to you that you didn't want.”

Malavai blushed. “So… yes. I think I would enjoy that. I quite like the idea of being... overwhelmed.” He admitted, thinking. "Being taken out of my own head." He paused, and his eyes met Ven’fir’s with enough of a tease to make his skin prickle. “Especially if you were watching.”

The younger man raised an eyebrow, interest sparking in his blood.

“Oh? You want me to watch while you get screwed out of your mind?” he teased, and Malavai hid his face in embarrassment. “You want me to see how good you are, how well you can behave and how lovely you look while you’re taking it?”

“Shut up.” Came the muffled reply, and Ven’fir chuckled, giving him a squeeze.

“Well, we already know you have a praise kink,” he grinned. “No need for a quiz to tell us that one.”

Malavai prodded him and Ven’fir twitched, laughing.

“All right, sorry.” His chuckled fades as he input the results. “Okay, next one. ’The idea of being tortured sexually, is appealing.’ Hmm, not for me it isn’t.”

Malavai, emerging from where he had been hiding his face in Ven’fir’s side, blinked at him, his flush fading.

“What do they mean?” he asked. “Like, pain torture, or intense teasing? You know, not allowed to touch yourself or come? Or do they mean whips and that kind of thing?”

Ven’fir frowned.

“I’m not sure. I assume it’s the former. Either one isn’t my thing though. I don’t really like being teased for too long.”

Malavai hummed. “I think I like it more than you do, but you’re right. I don’t want it going on too long.”

Ven’fir glanced at the next question and snorted.

“’I will naturally take on a nurturing and guiding, almost parental role in a relationship.’” He recited. “Nope.”

Malavai rolled his eyes. “No thank you. I teach young people every day, I certainly don’t want to have to care for my partner that way too.”

Ven’fir smirked. “Not even if I call you ‘daddy’?”

He got an unimpressed glare.

“Especially not.”

Smirking, he input their responses and continued.

“’I feel the need to serve my partner and treat them with the highest respect, addressing them as a superior.’ Haven’t we already had this one?” he squinted. “Either way, it’s a no. Not that I don’t respect you.” He added quickly, and Malavai chuckled.

“I know you do. No, I’m not into that either. I like us being equal.” He said with a smile, which Ven’fir had to agree on.

“’I like to dominate my partner(s), especially in the bedroom.’” He read out, smile forming on his face. “Yep, that’s a big yes from me. I like being in charge in bed.”

Malavai smiled fondly. “You do. I can enjoy it when I’m in the mood.” He allowed.

“Neutral to agree, then?” Ven’fir asked, and at the nod from his partner, noted it down.

“Hmm, this is another familiar one. I think it’s the opposite point of view, though.” He mumbled. “’I like inflicting pain during sex/BDSM and seeing the results of it (marks/bruises, makeup running by tears, etc.) afterwards.’”

Malavai hummed. “I don’t like inflicting the pain, but I do quite like seeing marks on you.” He admitted. “That I put there, obviously.”

Ven’fir nodded.

“Yeah, I’m similar. I think I like seeing the immediate effect though, like seeing you messed up from something I did. Love bites are okay, but I like more ‘in the moment’ kind of results.” he explained, trying to word his feelings correctly. “I love seeing you an absolute mess, if that helps.”

Malavai went pink at his candid words, even if they weren’t new information.

“Almost agree, then? More for you than me.”

Ven’fir nodded, still thinking.

“Hm, next one.”

He scrolled and raised his eyebrows.

“’I like to be sexually degraded and humiliated by my partner(s) sometimes.’. That’s a hard no from me. I’m really not into that stuff.”

Malavai tilted his head. “That’s just sexual, right? Not verbal?”

Ven’fir nodded.

“Well, I like it when you uh-“ he glanced away. “This is embarrassing.”

Ven’fir held him close. “I’m not going to judge you or laugh.” He promised.

Malavai sighed, curling into his arms for comfort.

“I quite like it when you hold me down and sort of… use me.” He managed, cheeks red. “I’m not sure if that counts or if it's the right way to say it, but I like it when you almost use me like a toy. I don’t feel degraded though, I don’t think? More like… flattered.” He admitted shyly. “Because you want me so much.”

Ven’fir nodded slowly. “You like when I’m aggressive or impatient?”

He nodded. “Yes. It’s… thrilling, you know? That you want me so badly that you’ll just hold me down and fuck me like you can’t think of anything else.”

Ven’fir smiled, running his hand down Malavai’s back in a soothing motion.

“Well, that’s good to know.” He murmured. “I’ll make sure to do that more often.”

Malavai gave a shy smile and stayed close.

Ven’fir scrolled through the page a little further.

“’I enjoy playing a different age than what I technically am.’” He read out. He glanced at Malavai and found him shaking his head. “Yeah, same for me. Right, a no for both of us.”

“’I like to be completely in charge in the bedroom and order my partner(s) around.’” He grinned. “Yep, totally. I like being able to control the flow of what’s going on.”

Malavai smiled. “Not really. I prefer to let you take the reins. I like not having to think too much.”

“Okay, I’ll put that in there…” He bit his tongue between his teeth as he navigated with one hand. “Oh, there’s another reversed one.”

“’I like my partner(s) to be completely in charge in the bedroom, ordering me around.’” He glanced at his lover. “We already talked about this, so I’ll just fill it in.”

“’I enjoy being verbally degraded or called humiliating names during sex/BDSM.’ Hmm,” he murmured. “I don’t _despise_ it, but I’m also not particularly into it.”

Malavai flushed. “I am. Well, a bit.” He admitted, and Ven’fir nodded. “I don’t like humiliation at all, but uh, I do quite like it when you call me… things.”

Ven’fir smirked.

“When I call you a slut or a whore? When I describe how messy and debauched you look?”

Malavai, red faced and awkward, nodded. “Only because you make it sound like a good thing when you say it.” He admitted. “So, it doesn’t really feel degrading at all. It's more... freeing? I suppose? It makes me feel sexy.”

Ven’fir smiled, pleased. “Good. If you like feeling free and a fun and a bit slutty then I’m all for that.” He winked.

Malavai sighed. “I’m old. It’s weird to like that, isn’t it?”

Ven’fir rolled his eyes. “Of course not. Having fun during sex isn’t something only young people are allowed. Besides, you’re thirty-nine, that’s _not_ old.” He assured. “So yeah, feel free to let your slutty side out.” He grinned and felt relieved when Malavai laughed.

“You just want me to act like one of those people in your porn videos.”

Ven’fir smirked. “I certainly wouldn’t mind. I’ll get you a little outfit to go with it. Something tiny and a bit trashy. Maybe with fishnets and a size too small.”

Malavai wrinkled his nose, but Ven’fir was determined to convince him, even if just for amusements sake.

“Right, so a no from me and a sorta yes from you.” Ven’fir recapped, inputting it into the page. “Cool, right. Next one is… ‘There is no reason why sex would have to happen in private spaces, isolated from the outside world.’”

He hummed. “Well, I’m actually quite into fucking in front other people, but only when those people are actually… you know, into it. There’s plenty of reasons not to fuck in the outside world.” He frowned. “I wouldn’t want someone to see me if they didn’t want that. What if it was a kid? Ugh, no.” he sighed. “So, unless I could absolutely guarantee that no poor person would walk in? No.”

Malavai nodded. “I’m not comfortable with the idea of true strangers seeing me like that.” He admitted. “It would be different in… say, a club or something where it’s expected, and people are prepared or even there specifically to see that kind of thing.” He paused. “Not that I want to go to one of those, but you get my point.”

Ven’fir grinned. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to one? I could dress you up all sexy and then we could find a nice corner and I would fuck you in the shadows, with everyone passing knowing exactly what we were doing. Maybe some of them would like to watch? I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to watch you.” He purred, and Malavai flushed.

“Something I don’t think I’ll ever do in real life.” He mumbled. “I like the idea of being wanted, but I would be too nervous in that kind of public place. Anyone could be there.”

Ven’fir nodded, aware Malavai was nowhere near as confident in his body or sexuality as Ven’fir was. Few were.

“So, a no from both of us then? Since we can both think of a good few reasons why we wouldn’t want to have sex in public. Fake public, maybe. Real public? No.”

He entered their positions and navigated to the next page. “Another one? Fuck this thing goes on forever.” He grumbled.

He scanned the page and raised his eyebrows. “Huh. I think we’ll speed through this page pretty quickly.” He admitted. “I’ll fire through these.”

Malavai just nodded, busy getting comfortable by pressing close into his side.

“’I often behave in animalistic ways during sex (growling, howling, etc.).’” he raised an eyebrow. “I don’t, but you do moan a _lot_.”

Malavai gave him a look that was made less effective by his blush. “And you talk.” He said primly. “It’s often nonsense.”

Ven’fir felt heat on his own cheeks. “Well… that’s because you send me insane.” He grinned brightly, and Malavai rolled his eyes.

“Funny. No, I don’t go feral during sex.”

“Me neither.”

He marked down ‘disagree’ for the both of them.

“’In an ideal relationship, I should have no hard limits, my life should belong to my partner and they should decide what is good for me.’” He positive a look at Malavai, and found him unimpressed.

“No.” he said firmly. “Definitely not. I love and trust you, but my life is my own.”

Ven’fir nodded, leaning over to kiss him.

“I know, I like that about you.” He smiled. “Right, next one. Oh, this is going to be quick…”

He sighed.

“’I like to sexually degrade and/or humiliate my partner(s) sometimes.’ Not really.” He shrugged. “I do like being rough with you, but that’s only because I know you really like it.” He admitted. “It wouldn’t be fun if I didn’t know it turned you on. We’ve gone some kinky stuff before, and some of it got a bit…” he trailed off, imagining the times when things got a little wild. “But I don’t know if that counted as ‘degrading’. It didn’t feel like I was degrading you.”

Malavai hummed. “I don’t think those times counted. I didn’t feel humiliated by anything you did at the time, even if afterwards I was a bit embarrassed that I had done some of them.” He admitted. “I still liked it all, and it didn't feel humiliating.”

Ven’fir nodded. “Alright, that’s that one done.”

He grinned at the next question. “Aw, this is my thing.” He laughed. “’ I would like it when my partner is completely tied up during sex/BDSM.’ Yes. _Huge_ yes.”

Malavai chuckled, “I won’t argue with you there. You do love tying me up.”

Ven’fir smirked.

“You look so good with rope burn, babe.” He purred. “But all tied up like a dream, just waiting for me to come along and do whatever I want with you? That’s _beautiful._ ”

His lover was pink again, and Ven’fir had always loved how he blushed. It was ridiculously cute against his pale skin, and he went such lovely colours when embarrassed or excited.

Ven’fir’s own bronze skin made it much less obvious when he was blushing, and he liked denying Malavai the opportunity to turn the tables on him.

“I can’t say I don’t like it.” Malavai admitted slyly.

“I’m not really a fan of it being done to me, though.” Ven’fir admitted. “Not that it’s not fun occasionally, but even then, it’s only handcuffs and not for long. I think I only like it then because _you're_ having fun. I definitely can’t stay like that for as long as you can.”

Malavai shrugged. “Usually I’m not really aware of time when I’m tied up for you.” He pointed out, which did make sense. Ven’fir wasn’t really into taking his time or keeping it slow when Malavai was at his mercy like that, so his lover wasn’t really in the kind of state to think about anything past what was being done to him.

Which was, of course, the whole point.

“I don’t much like doing it to you though.” Malavai admitted. “It’s fun for a little while to tease you, but I find it gets old quickly and I don’t really like having to take charge of you like that.”

Ven’fir nodded. “Fair. Right so, next one.”

He shifted to get the weight off his foot that had fallen asleep, gently dislodging the sleeping cat. She made an irritated noise but didn’t move as he repositioned his foot.

“’Being treated with little or no respect during sex/BDSM arouses me.’” He recited and shrugged. “It really doesn’t. I like having fun, but I also like being treated with respect while I’m having the fun.”

“It’s the same for me.” Malavai agreed, absently trailing his fingers along the line of Ven’fir’s hips and back up again.

“Hard no for both of us then, cool.” Ven’fir smiled. “It feels like we’re being quite prudish here.”

Malavai frowned. “We like that we like.” He said firmly. “And that’s fine.”

Ven’fir gave him a squeeze, affection warming his heart. “True.” He breathed, happy to be in this moment.

He looked at the next question and laughed.

“Okay, I know the answer to this one.” He grinned. “’I enjoy being kept as a pet: in a cage, eating out of a bowl, being petted/caressed, etc.’”

Malavai blinked.

“I… no.” he paused. “Well, I like the caressing bit.” He conceded. “And when you play with my hair.”

Ven’fir raised his eyebrows. “But you don’t fancy a bowl with your name on it next to the cats one?”

Malavai gave him a look. “No. I’m not sure if it counts though since I don’t like the rest of it. I just like you touching me,” he admitted. “It’s comforting and it makes me feel nice.”

“I think it half counts.” Ven’fir decided. “I’ll put that down.”

He raised his eyebrows at the next question.

“’I find the romantic aspect in a relationship much more important than the sexual or kinky aspects.’” He blew a breath our through pursed lips. “Tough one. For me, I have to say they’re equal. I don’t think I could enjoy a relationship without a physical connection.” He confessed. “I’m a very sexual person.”

Malavai thought for a moment, leaning into Ven’fir’s touch as he played with his hair.

“For me, feelings are more important than sex.” He said eventually. “But I would definitely miss sex if it weren’t available to me. If I had to choose though? Feelings.” He murmured, averting his eyes. “I _really_ like sex with you though.” He added, and it made Ven’fir chuckle.

“Next page.” He murmured as he looked over it. “I think I’m just going to skip the reversed questions. I’ll fill them in as we go.”

He felt Malavai nod and yawn, curling into him. He was a pleasantly warm weight, and Ven’fir liked seeing him so relaxed.

“’I enjoy people seeing me being naked or having sex, even (or especially) when they didn't intend to do so.’” He frowned. “We covered this. No. I like them watching, but not if they didn’t mean to or consent to it.”

He marked them both down as far left as they could go.

“’Talking back to one's dominant in a teasingly disobeying way, should be part of the sub's fun.’” He read out, a smirk spreading over his face. “I think we know where you stand on this, mister ‘I can’t stop being a damned tease’.”

Malavai flushed, although he didn’t deny it.

“Sometimes I like doing what you tell me,” he pointed out. “And other times I like to give you a bit of a challenge.” He said primly.

Ven’fir couldn’t help but love that defiant expression. For someone who liked following the rules, Malavai was quick enough to break them when it meant tormenting Ven’fir. He certainly didn’t mind.

Ven’fir shook his head. “Malavai Quinn, rule-breaker extraordinaire.” He ribbed, “You can be a bit of a brat in bed, you know?”

Malavai’s flush deepened. “I’m not a _brat_.” He defended. “I just like to play with you.” He frowned, pausing. “That sounded weird.”

Ven’fir was laughing. “It did. I actually like doing exactly what I’m told on the rare occasions I sub.” He admitted. “It’s a fun change.”

He silently filled in one about serving your partner as your life’s purpose, having already covered that in a previous question.

“Ah, next one! ‘Being in fear of what my partner is going to do to me physically, is arousing.’ Hmm, kind of? I don’t know if I like the idea of fear though. Anticipation, maybe?”

Malavai hummed. “I quite like it. I like the feeling of not knowing what you’re going to do, and then when I _do_ know, it’s nice.” He said carefully. “It’s only fun because I trust you, though. I know you won’t hurt me or do anything I won’t enjoy.”

Ven’fir was touched and pressed a kiss to his lovers’ hair. “I’m glad you feel that way.” He admitted. “I don’t ever want you to be genuinely unsure about trusting what I’ll do.”

Malavai smiled at him, soft and affectionate, and Ven’fir suddenly felt so very privileged. Malavai was a hard man to get to know, but it had been more than worth it. To think, a one-night stand from a boring, overpriced bar had got him a boyfriend that he wouldn’t want to be without, and he couldn’t be happier.

“’I enjoy dressing or behaving like a child or engaging in child-appropriate activities such as colouring in a colouring book or going to a playground.’” He paused, glancing at Malavai. “No.”

Malavai nodded. “No.”

They moved on.

“’I like to be totally helpless and at my partner's disposal, physically unable to resist what they do.’” He read aloud, and Malavai smiled at him.

“Yeah, I like that.” He murmured. He seemed to be getting more open about discussing what he liked, and Ven’fir appreciate that. Part of it was probably the several glasses of wine he had worked his way through, he realised. “Like I said earlier, I like it when you can do whatever you want with me.”

That thought send a thrill of something hot and electric through him, and he resolved to pursue that thought later. It seemed to be one that they both liked, and it would probably lead to some fun experiments.

“I’m not so into that,” he admitted. “So, I’ll put me down as a ‘no’.”

He skipped over another question about feeling like a predator chasing prey and moved on.

“Almost there.” He murmured to an increasingly sleepy Malavai, who just nodded and yawned.

“’Physically restricting my partner during sex/BDSM (with clothes, attributes, rope, chains, etc.) is arousing.’ Absolutely. I love seeing you tied up and enjoying it.” He grinned. “You always look so different when you’re in bed, and I love seeing the difference between prim and proper daytime Malavai and messy and loving it night-time Malavai.”

His lover, to his surprise, gave a sly little smile. “I like that you like that.” He admitted. “It makes me feel… good. Sexy.”

“You _are_ sexy.” Ven’fir assured, completely honest. “You’re an absolute work of art, you are.”

Now Malavai was blushing, but he was clearly pleased with the compliment.

“I could say the same for you.” He said simply, playing with the hem of Ven’fir’s t-shirt idly. “I don’t think I like doing it to you as much as like it being done it me.” He admitted.

Ven’fir shrugged. “That’s fair. Okay, how about this one? ‘It's no big deal when things I try turn out bad for me. It's part of the risk and it's a necessary part of discovering what works and what doesn't.’”

Malavai frowned. “I don’t take it well, I don’t think.” He confessed. “I hate it when things don’t work, especially when I spent a long time psyching myself up to try them. It feels like failure, even if it isn’t.” he added at Ven’fir’s frown. “I _know_ it isn’t, but I still don’t like the feeling.”

Ven’fir nodded slowly.

“Okay, I can understand that. I don’t mind it.” He admitted. “It doesn’t bother me too much. It means I know that I don’t like something, and we can spend more time on stuff I _do_ like.”

“’I have plenty of sexual fantasies that I would like to try out, more than most of my kinky peers.’” Ven’fir read out, grinning. “I know I have a lot, even if I suspect they’re quite tame compared to some.”

Malavai was looking awkward again.

“I have… a few.” He conceded cagily. “I doubt it’s more than other people however.”

Ven’fir smirked. “More than most people would assume from you, though.”

Malavai just gave him a sly look and stayed quiet.

“’Assuming I was single, I would like to join an existing couple's or polygroup's relationship for sexual and/or emotional purposes.’” Ven’fir blinked at the question. “That’s not something I have ever thought of.” He admitted. “I don’t dislike the idea, but I don’t think I fancy being the odd one out if it’s an established group.” He murmured. “Maybe just for sex? At least until I’m comfortable with the dynamic, anyway.”

Malavai tilted his head. “You don’t think you’d be jealous or anything?”

“Probably not, as long as I wasn’t excluded or anything.” Ven’fir answered truthfully, “I’m pretty open otherwise. How about you?”

“Malavai had to think for a moment. “I think I would find it hard to break into something like that, especially alone.” He admitted. “I’m surprised that I don’t hate the idea of a group, but I do feel like I would always be comparing myself to the others in it.”

Ven’fir nodded, understanding Malavai’s sometimes lacking self-confidence would make things difficult.

“There’s a few that I’ll skip…” he murmured, doing so with a scroll of his thumb. “Right, here we go. ‘I enjoy and take pride in being a good domestic servant for my partner, taking care of all household chores like cooking, cleaning, etc.’” he snorted. “Yeah, no. I’m shit at all of that.”

Malavai gave him a dry look. “I know.” He drawled. “I like taking care of you, but not because I want to be your servant.” He murmured. “I just love you.”

Feeling warm and pleased, Ven’fir kissed his temple, revelling in his warmth. He would never tire of hearing that sentiment.

“’I have a thing for large age differences in sexual encounters or relationships.’”

Malavai shook his head. “No. They don’t bother me, but I think it very much depends on circumstances. Very extreme differences are a little off putting for me, but only because of the power dynamic and issues with consent.” He acknowledged. “We have a pretty big difference between us, but it doesn’t feel like it matters.”

Ven’fir nodded. “I agree. I’ve always liked older partners,” he admitted, “And sometimes the age difference has been quite large.”

Malavai looked at him curiously.

“What was the largest?” he asked, and Ven’fir shit him a grin.

“I had a fling with a lady that I met in a bar. I was nineteen and she was fifty-one.”

Malavai raised his eyebrows. “That’s… quite a bit.”

He shrugged. “We both knew that we wanted, and I liked her. She was fun, she knew what she was doing, and she was sexy. What more could I want?” he laughed. “It was just sex though; I don’t know if it would have mattered more had we been looking for a relationship. I don’t _think_ I fetishize it, but it is something I know I like.”

Malavai seemed to be thinking. “At least now I know why you keep trying to call me ‘daddy’.” He said dryly, and Ven’fir laughed.

“Nah, that’s just because it annoys you.” He teased, kissing him briefly before drawing back.

Thankfully, Malavai just rolled his eyes.

Ven’fir quickly filled out several repeated questions before arriving at a new one.

“’I could not be always dominant or always submissive, I need both.’” He thought about it for a moment. “Hm, possibly? I like switching, even if I generally prefer being dominant. Yeah, I think I would prefer to have the option for both.”

Malavai hummed. “I think I could stay in one role easily enough,” he admitted. “I like switching, but it’s not essential.”

He filled in the rest of the questions, which were just reverse versions of previous ones.

“Oh, we’re done.” He grinned, and Malavai opened sleepy, interested eyes. “Let’s see what we have for you.”

He read through the results, a smile appearing on his face. Malavai looked a little concerned.

“Look, this is definitely you.” Ven’fir grinned, handing the phone over. Malavai peered at it, reading what it said about him.

“It says I’m a… rope bunny.” He said with a hint of a blush.

Ven cuddled up to him as he read more, watching his reactions.

Malavai continued to read. “Then I’m vanilla. Well, that’s not a surprise.” He said with a smile. “I’m fairly tame. Hm, submissive? Okay, I can see that too. Degradee? Not in the traditional sense, but I’ll accept it.”

He glanced down and his flush intensified. “I.. oh.”

Ven’fir looked at where he was reading. “Masochist.” He read aloud, and Malavai went a deeper pink. “And then ‘brat’.”

Ven’fir couldn’t help but laugh, deeply amused. “It sounds like you _are_ a brat after all.” He teased.

“Shut up.” Malavai sighed and tossed the phone back. Ven’fir fumbled to catch it and looked at his own results.

“Rigger. Well, yes. I love tying you up, and that really matches well with you, my dear ‘rope bunny’. Oh,” he exclaimed as he had an idea. “We should get a spreader bar for you.” He cooed and enjoyed how Malavai buried his face in Ven’fir’s shoulder in embarrassment but no little interest. “Then I got dominant, which makes sense. Switch is next, and that makes sense too. Then vanilla and experimentalist, which are pretty self-explanatory.” He glanced down and barked out a laugh. “Fifty eight percent ‘brat tamer’.” He leered at his lover, who made a distressed noise. “Hear that, babe? I like trying to tame you.”

Malavai glanced up, his face aflame and his eyes narrowed. “You’ll try.” He muttered sourly. “I can’t believe I’m a ‘rope bunny’. It sounds so sleazy.”

Ven’fir laughed. “I think it’s cute.” He admitted, smiling. “And it looks like we fit nicely.”

Malavai sighed as Ven’fir held him close.

“That’s true.” He allowed. “Even if we kind of already knew it.”

He let out a breath, and Ven’fir dimmed his phone, placing it on the coffee table next to the empty wine bottle. “Yeah, we did.” He smiled fondly. He yawned, taking himself by surprise. He shifted, torn between wanting to cuddle and wanting to get up and go to bed.

“C’mon rope bunny.” He grinned, amused by Malavai’s irritated sigh. “Let’s get some sleep and then maybe in the morning we can test out some of the things we discovered tonight. I want to buy a spreader bar off the internet.” He offered and smiled as Malavai eyed him.

The older man sighed and moved to allow Ven’fir up, before taking the offered hand and standing.

He smiled at him, and gently leaned in to kiss him. It was warm and soft and affectionate, and he stayed close.

“I love you.” He murmured, and Ven’fir couldn’t help but feel a giddy sensation at those heartfelt words.

“I love you too,” he whispered, before giving in to a smirk. “My rope bunny.”

He dodged out of the way as Malavai made to jab him in the ribs, laughed as he made his escape towards their bedroom.

He had never been more content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mal is a rope bunny and this does not surprise Ven at all. He's also a bit of a brat, which does.
> 
> If anyone is interested in taking the same test that Ven and Mal did, it's here: bdsmtest.org.
> 
> Mal:  
> 99% Rope bunny  
> 94% Vanilla  
> 72% Submissive  
> 68% Degradee  
> 60% Masochist  
> 59% Brat 
> 
> Ven:  
> 100% Rigger  
> 86% Dominant  
> 74% Switch  
> 71% Vanilla  
> 60% Experimentalist  
> 58% Brat tamer
> 
> Next chapter: Bookstore


	8. Bookstore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malavai runs a bookstore and is smitten by a particular customer who comes in for his guilty pleasure reading.

It was two twenty-eight, and he was _late_.

Malavai sighed as he drummed his fingers on the countertop, glancing at the clock.

Well, maybe not late. It wasn’t like he had a standing appointment to keep, so perhaps he had just got tied up at work?

He sighed again; hands restless.

His favourite customer was late, and it bothered him.

Especially since he was due to pick up an order that Malavai knew he had been waiting for a long time.

Feeling foolish and irritated, he pushed himself up off the counter with more force than strictly necessary, and brought his tablet out of the sleep mode it had fallen into.

He needed to organise his inventory.

It was a boring, although oddly satisfying task. He felt like he was plugging holes in his little shop, and he liked looking up what was trending or recommended by the newspapers.

His bookshop wasn’t particularly modern, but nor was it an antique.

It had an old-school air to it that people seemed to like, coupled with a clean, bright space that had more than one person comparing it to an old schoolroom.

Malavai didn’t mind that.

Newer releases were at the front, while the more collectable and obscure volumes were set up in the back, through a small corridor that led to another room, piled high with perfectly ordered books.

While Malavai appreciated the aesthetic of the messy, quirky bookshop, he couldn’t live like that. He hated disorder, and he enjoyed keeping his space tidy.

The smell of coffee wafted through the store from the cafe next door.

Their buildings were very old, and had probably once been part of a larger single structure. A doorway was positioned on the wall between their two shops, and while some may have chosen to fill it in, Malavai had seized upon opportunity.

He had come to an agreement with the cafe that their customers would move freely between the two shops so that his customers could go and get a drink while they sampled a book, and the cafe’s customers would have a curious nose around his bookshop after their coffee.

So far, it had worked a dream.

Also, his shop now smelled like freshly roasted coffee all day, and he certainly couldn’t complain about that.

A few people drifted around as they browsed, some of whom he recognised.

A few regulars that were in every few days, and some who simply came to enjoy the atmosphere with their favourite novel.

The ones he didn’t recognise could have been tourists or locals attempting to escape the driving rain outside that hurled itself against his windows.

He liked the rain.

The sound of the bell ringing as someone opened the door had him looking round, and his heart fluttered.

There he was.

His favourite customer.

He was shaking off raindrops from his umbrella, running a hand through a head of dark curls.

He was tall and broad, powerfully built under that charcoal suit and stylish trench coat, and Malavai couldn’t help but admire him.

He glanced up and his face broke into a happy, boyish grin that made Malavai’s stomach flutter and twist.

He was always deeply tanned, his natural bronze complexion only darkening in the summer months when he must have spent time outside. His grey eyes were bright and expressive, dark eyelashes giving him a perpetually flirty look that suited his roguish nature.

He was a businessman, although Malavai had no idea what kind.

He was _lovely_.

“Sorry I’m late!” he greeted, dropping his umbrella into the stand and giving Malavai a sheepish grin. “I got stuck at work. I swear, everyone thinks they’re the most important thing in the universe.” He grumbled, stepping over.

His smile widened as he reached the counter.

“So, how is my favourite bookworm?” he teased, and that was something Malavai had had to get used to when the man had first started striking up conversation with him.

He was a tease and a flirt, and Malavai _adored_ him.

He gave him a look, but couldn’t help a smile.

“I’m fine, thank you.” He replied. “How's my favourite corporate shark?”

Ven’fir laughed, a loud and unrestrained thing. They had known each other for about a year at this point, and it had taken Malavai the majority of that time to feel comfortable bantering with the man.

“I’m well, thank you.” Ven’fir said with a smile, something soft in it that made Malavai feel warm. “Is my order in?”

Malavai nodded, and couldn’t help a smile when the man beamed, looking like a child on Christmas.

“Oh, I’m so excited!” he gushed, his eyes sparkling. “The _Warm Hearts, Cold Space_ collector’s edition set with the previously unreleased collection of short stories! I’ve been waiting for this _forever_.”

He was practically vibrating with excitement, and Malavai was absolutely _smitten._

They made conversation over books for a little while, with Ven’fir gushing over his favourite series and Malavai pretending that he didn’t think they were, at best, average.

When he left, saying something about the end of his lunch break, Malavai watched him go with a flutter in his belly.

Oh dear.

* * *

“So, I don’t know what to _do_.”

He sighed, leaning back in the squashy sofa in their favourite bar. It was decently quiet, although had enough buzz to not feel awkward.

Jaesa regarded him over her the rim of her gin and tonic.

“Well, why not just ask him on a date?” She said practically.

That sounded entirely too reasonable.

He frowned, rolling his bottle of beer between his hands.

“I can’t just… ask him.” He protested, “That would be weird.”

Jaesa, bless her patient soul, simply looked at him like he was an idiot.

“Why not? You’re both adults, you’ve known each other for a little while, and he clearly likes you enough to stay and talk to you on his lunch breaks.”

All exceptionally good points.

Malavai was running out of arguments.

“I… What if he says no?” he asked in a small voice, and Jaesa’s expression softened. Carefully, she tucked a rogue strand of dark hair behind her ear, her kohl lined eyes looking warm in the low light.

“I can’t say that he won’t,” she began, “But ask him and find out his answer for yourself, or you don’t and forever wondered what would have happened if you _had_.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re right,” he murmured, glum. “I know you are. It doesn’t make it any easier, though.”

The younger woman shook her head.

“It doesn’t,” she agreed. “But it’s what you’ll have to deal with if you want things to change.”

He offered her a small smile.

“You’re too good to me.”

Her painted lips curved into a sly smile, and Malavai was reminded why he had once been smitten with _her._

That had been a long time ago and had passed as quickly as it had come. Jaesa was a good friend, and he would trade that for the world. He hadn’t been in a good place then, and it had been the right call not to pursue anything with her. Besides, she was probably too young for him, although that tended to matter less the older they got.

She had been working in the café next door to his shop when Malavai had first opened it, and they had become fast friends. She had since left after completing her studies, but they had kept in touch and remained strong friends. She was beautiful and clever and had been kind to him when he had been struggling.

It was a worrying trend.

He tended to fall hard for people who were nice to him, and that probably said something sad about his life.

Still, back to the issue at hand.

Malavai’s absolute _crisis_ over his favourite customer.

“Alright,” he decided, stuck by a sudden surge of confidence. “I’ll ask him.”

He paused.

“How?”

Jaesa sighed, exasperated.

“Malavai,” she muttered reprovingly. “You’ve done this before, _think_.”

He frowned.

“I don’t think I have, actually.” He admitted. “Not directly, anyway. I’ve always been the one asked.”

That was a little embarrassing too.

Jaesa, thankfully, didn’t tease him.

“So, he liked that book series, right?”

“ _Warm Hearts, Cold Space_.” Malavai supplied helpfully.

Jaesa waved a hand. “That. So, ask him if he wants to talk about it over coffee.” She said like it was that easy.

Maybe it was for other people.

Malavai was bad at things like this.

He frowned. “Do you think that’ll work? What if he just thinks it’s a friend thing?”

Jaesa rolled her eyes.

“Then you’ll go and have a nice time with him as a friend, before asking him at the end if he wants to go and have dinner with you.”

He stared.

“How do you know this stuff?”

She shrugged.

“Television.” She admitted. “And I set up all my friends.”

Malavai eyed her suspiciously.

“And how many of them have been successes?”

She gave him a beady stare.

“Three of them are married now.” She responded primly.

Okay, so perhaps her credentials were sound.

He nodded.

“Alright,” he said with a weary smile as he raised his bottle. “I’ll try.”

She grinned as she blinked her glass to his bottle in a gesture of solidarity.

“Don’t forget to smile.”

* * *

Malavai was having a panic attack.

Okay, so he wasn’t _yet_ , but he felt one coming on.

Anxiety hummed beneath his skin and squeezed at his lungs, and made his brain feel like a carousel stuck on the fastest setting.

Ven’fir was there, nosing through the artbooks that Malavai had ordered just for him because _no-one else would want that crap_ , and he looked so lovely and Malavai just wanted to talk books with him over coffee and spoil him rotten.

He had his tablet on and he pretended to be studying it intently while he hyperventilated, casting glances to the man of his dreams that was giddily looking through artbooks of a cheesy, terribly sappy sci-fi romance series.

His mind drifted to the conversation from the previous night and brain-Jaesa gave him a look that said she wasn’t impressed by his hiding behind his tablet.

Ven’fir ambled over, his arms full of the artbooks that Malavai knew he would buy, his expression pleased and excited.

“These please.” He announced with cheer, and Malavai’s belly fluttered at how cute that boyish smile was. “I swear, this place is the best place to get _Warm Hearts_ stuff. Nowhere else carries it.”

Malavai pasted on a smile, internally screaming.

No one else carried it because the series was _trashy_.

It was a sappy sci-fi romance that had somehow been drawn out for nine books and two movies, as well as a host of other media.

Nine books.

Nine.

That was just… ridiculous.

Still, the cult following it gained hadn’t been _entirely_ undeserved, as it was hardly ‘ _Eighty-Two Shades of Chartreuse_ ’ bad. Malavai refused to stock _that_ series on purpose.

As he rang up the ludicrously expensive order that Ven’fir didn’t bat an eye at, he studied the man currently flipping through his new purchases with the eager glee of a child on Christmas morning.

He was taller than Malavai by barely an inch, but something about his broad shoulders and solid frame gave him the physical presence of a man much larger than he really was.

Malavai had never seen him in any other than an impeccably tailored suit, and that got exactly zero arguments from him. Those suits were _very_ flattering.

Today’s number was a striking charcoal with a crisp white shirt that went nicely with his deeply tanned complexion and dark hair. His eyes, grey and with a perpetual glint of mischief, made Malavai sigh.

He wanted him.

He wanted him so _much._

He bagged the books and handed them over.

Ven’fir’s fingers brushed his as he did so, and he felt like he had touched static.

“So, I-“ and then his throat stopped working. He swallowed with great difficulty and forged on.

He was a strong, independent man who didn’t _absolutely lose his shit_ every time his crush walked in.

No, he was confident and suave and- Yeah, _no_.

He wasn’t. At all.

He was Malavai; weird, awkward, boring, stuffy Malavai.

He swallowed again and met Ven’fir’s slightly confused eyes.

Oh god, that was so much _worse_.

“Sorry. I um, I wondered if you wanted to get a drink? Coffee? I wondered if you wanted to go for coffee and uh,” he trailed off, panicking. Books. Talk about books. “Uh, talk about your books.”

Fuck.

Oh, he forgot to smile.

With clear difficulty, he attempted a smile and, by the concerned expression the other man wore, failed miserably.

He wanted the floor to eat him up.

_Just say no so we can pretend this never happened._

_Please._

Ven’fir looked at him for a moment, and he appeared to be having some kind of epiphany.

Malavai wrung his hands, desperate to end his own suffering to get out of this situation.

The other man gave a slow smile, and something pleasant and ticklish made Malavai’s belly squirm.

“That sounds lovely.”

Malavai stared at him.

What.

Ven’fir, amused and not a little concerned, tilted his head.

“Are you alright-“

“Yes!” He blurted out, feeling his cheeks start to glow. “I- are you sure?”

Oh, you _moron._

‘Are you sure’, what even _was_ that?

The smile widened.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” The suited man agreed, amused. “I would love to go on a date with you.”

Malavai might collapse, at this rate.

“I- a date. Yes, uh-“

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck shit fuck_

Ven’fir had said _yes._

He couldn’t help but smile, and the soft look he got in return took his breath away.

“Sorry,” he managed, blushing crimson. Curse his pale skin. “I- yes.”

Ven’fir broke into a grin, pleased and sweet.

“You’re cute.” He chuckled, and while Malavai was sure no-one else in the word would agree, he would take what he could get. “Let me give you my number.”

Oh, yes. He would need that. To arrange the date. The date they were going to go on.

Oh _hell_.

Ven’fir scrawled his number on a spare sheet of paper and presented it with a flourish.

“There. I don’t play hard to get, so no need to wait to call.” He assured, grinning. “I gotta go though. My lunch break is over.”

That broke Malavai out of his trance.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to keep you.” He assured, giddy and feeling every emotion at once. “Have a nice day.”

He was literally the worst human being on the planet. _Have a nice day_.

Fuck’s sake.

Ven’fir smiled.

“You too.” He bid, soft. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

His heart leapt, and Malavai couldn’t help but mirror that smile.

He had said _yes._

“I’ll be here.” He assured and watched Ven’fir go with what he was sure was a dopey smile on his face.

He needed to get Jaesa a gift for her advice, and another for all the help she was going to have to give to get him ready for the date.

It was so, _so_ worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after bickering over books and being nerdy together. ♡
> 
> The end.


	9. Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Employees speculate on their boss' private life, until it intrudes on their own.

Vette scowled as she scanned a contract with impressive aggression.

Ugh.

Her bosses’ boss was an absolute _terror_ , and if she had to spend one more minute in his infuriating company, she was going to lose her mind.

“Bad day?”

Vette glanced over to see Jediahi leaning against the wall, stirring her coffee with a spoon.

Jediahi had significant inches on Vette, and looked like she could bench press a small house.

Her blouse highlighted the swell of her biceps and her pressed trousers hugged her muscular thighs. She kept her dark hair in a hastily pulled tail behind her head, and her grin was distinctly feline. Rumour around the office was that she had secretly been a mercenary, chasing thrill and lucrative contracts around the world before she decided to retire and settle down. Vette wasn’t sure she believed a word of that.

She gave her friend a _look._

“I was in a meeting with Quinn.” She said grimly, as if that explained it all.

By the way Jediahi winced, it did.

“In fine form today, wasn’t he?” she drawled, taking a sip of her coffee as the hum of the scanner got louder.

Vette grimaced.

“You could say that.” She muttered, scanning another page. “Pierce tried some power play bullshit and now he's got a bee in his bonnet. He's a nightmare, honestly.”

“He is, but he's decent eye candy.” The tall woman pointed out. “I'd look at that man all day as long as he didn’t _talk_.”

Vette snorted as she scanned the last page, and shut the lid on the scanner.

“I dunno. He's all... neat. It's weird. How do you think about someone like that?” She muttered, rolling her eyes. “I can’t even imagine him without a tie on, let alone naked. Besides, that annoying voice...”

Jediahi laughed into her coffee, broad shoulders shaking.

“Yeah, I don’t have that problem.” She smirked. “I’ve got no issue with anyone imagining me with nothing on, and I’m not going to let a shit personality stop me from returning the favour.”

Vette flicked a braid over her shoulder.

“If you say so.” She shrugged. “I just don’t want him to ruin the pizza party tomorrow. I look forward to that every year, but this year he's actually coming.” She complained.

“I heard that Nox told him to go.” Jediahi smirked, tucking a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. “Now he's gotten promoted, he has to turn up to these things.”

Vette wrinkled her nose.

“Ugh. Everyone is going to be having a good time and then he'll just be standing there like a creepy, awkward statue.” She sighed.

Jediahi shrugged. “I don’t mind what he does. I’m going to tear up the town with Torian in the evening, and no stuffed suit is going to stop me from enjoying that.”

“He's back in the country?” Vette asked, curious.

Jediahi's fiancé wasn’t a familiar face, but Vette had met him before.

Torian was a young man with a charming, lopsided grin and a flop of sandy hair, who spent his time in rainforests and savannahs as a wildlife conservationist. The last Vette had heard, he was out in the Okavango with an anti-poaching team.

He was calm and friendly, his easy-going humour contrasting with Jediahi’s rambunctious, aggressive enthusiasm for _everything_.

The other woman nodded.

“Yeah, he got back three weeks ago.” She said with a grin. “He's been told to keep his activity levels light, since he got himself shot _again_.” She complained, rolling her eyes.

“He spent three weeks in hospital, the idiot.” She groused, “So now he can’t do anything strenuous until he's healed some more.”

Vette stared.

“Your boyfriend got _shot_?” she repeated, flabbergasted.

Jediahi nodded.

“Yeah. Poacher tagged him in the leg.” She sighed. “I’m glad he’s alright, and at least this gives me the opportunity to try on a sexy nurse costume.”

Vette couldn’t imagine Jediahi, six foot four in her socks and with muscles like an Olympic weightlifter, finding a skimpy nurse costume that would fit her.

Torian was a lucky man, in any case.

She shot the other woman a grin, and said as much. Jediahi barked out a laugh, a sparkle in her honey brown eyes.

“He loves it.” She winked, before bidding Vette goodbye and wandering off to find someone else to bother.

Amused and in a better mood than when she arrived at the printer, Vette headed back to her desk, settling into her seat and waking her computer.

Jaesa, who worked opposite, poked her head around her monitor with a quizzical look on her face.

“You alright?” She asked, her painted lips pulled into a concerned downturn. “I saw you looking at Quinn like you wanted to set him on fire.”

Vette snorted, tapping at her keyboard to log back in.

“That would spice things up, wouldn’t it?” she grunted, “Pierce got him going about ‘due process’ and ‘operational excellence’ and all that shit he loves. It's driving me insane.”

Jaesa looked sympathetic.

“Oh dear,” she murmured, “Well, at least we’ve got the pizza party tomorrow lunchtime, right?”

Her attempt to cheer Vette up was moderately successful.

“That is true,” she allowed with a small smile. “I do love going to that, even if half of it is cold by the time we get some.”

Jaesa smiled, the action making her kohl lined eyes crinkle at the corners.

“I was actually wondering if you wanted to meet up for a barbeque at the weekend, actually.” She offered. “I’m going to ask the team to come, and we'll go for a quick supply run before heading back to mine. Sound good?”

Vette grinned, something warm tickling her belly.

“That sounds awesome,” she admitted. “It's supposed to be great weather at the weekend too.”

They continued to chat while they worked, recalling funny moments from the Christmas party and ensuing afterparty that took place in the town.

The door opened to one of the meeting rooms, and Vette glanced up. Her mood dropped and she felt a frown work its way onto her face as she saw Quinn, his phone glued to his ear and looking somewhat harried, stride out with his laptop under his arm and a the rest of the participants trailing out after him at a much more sedate pace.

After he was gone, she wrinkled her nose.

“He’s so weird.”

Jaesa stifled a laugh.

“He’s on the phone, Vette. That’s not weird.”

She shook her head, braids bouncing.

“It is when he’s doing it.” She muttered stubbornly. “I hope I don’t have to speak to him tomorrow, or I’m going to end up sassing him.”

Jaesa’s expression was dry.

“You already do that.” She pointed out. “I’m surprised you’ve not been fired, honestly.”

Vette shrugged, sometimes having wondered that herself.

“They know how much concentrated awesome they would lose.”

* * *

The sunshine was glorious, and Vette was _so_ ready to be in Jaesa’s lovely garden, eating hotdogs and drinking chilled beer.

They were walking through the park with bags in their hands, filled to the brim with supplies for the barbeque. Vette was on bread and salad duty, and Pierce had graciously volunteered to carry the heavy drinks. Talos was happily chattering away about something she couldn’t follow as he adjusted his grip on the bag that held the precious burgers and hot dogs, and Vette was feeing quite content.

The rest of the team would be drifting in over the course of the afternoon, enjoying the sunshine in Jaesa’s immaculate, blooming garden.

The park was shining in the sun, the light hitting the leaves and throwing dappled shade over the path.

An ice-cream vendor was at the crossroads near one of the entrances, and he was serving frozen treats to a harried looking mother and her gaggle of children.

“Anyone want ice-cream?” She asked, and obviously, they did.

Really, she thought as they settled on a bench to enjoy their treats, ice-cream was the _best_.

Jaesa and Pierce were chatting about something work related, and Vette settled down to people watch for a while.

Children played on the swings and slides of the play area, and they were close enough that she could hear their laughter. A few joggers ran past, some looking like they were having more fun than others.

Vette ate her ice-cream, listening to Jaesa and Pierce argue over correct hot dog condiments.

Somehow the conversation then devolved into talking about their CEO, who was as grim and waspish as his assistant, Ashara, was bright and kind. Nox had never been seen in anything but an all-black suit, and Jaesa was making the point that that definitely made him a goth. Pierce was adamant that it didn’t.

Talos sighed as he finished his rum and raisin cone, adjusting the circular sunglasses perched on his nose.

“Having fun?” he asked her with infectious cheer, and she smiled.

“Yep.” She nodded. “I love summer. If it could be summer forever, I’d be happy.”

Talos beamed.

“Ahh, to be young and full of energy again.” He sighed, as though he wasn’t the most hyperactive man Vette knew. She swore he was constantly on a caffeine rush if she hadn’t heard with her own ears that he swore off it after deciding it made him ‘a tad rambunctious’.

She listened in again, and now Jaesa and Pierce were talking about Quinn and his prickly presence in their office.

She frowned.

“Does he _ever_ have fun?” she asked, half-rhetorical. Talos shrugged, amused.

“I assume not.” He answered cheerfully. “He certainly doesn’t look the type.”

She grinned.

“Looks like he was told to act like a normal human and had to Google it.”

Pierce laughed.

“That’s cause he’s a robot.” He pointed out from around a mouthful of mint-choc-chip.

He was a fussy, prickly _terror_ around the office, and she relished not having to look over her shoulder for him.

She tuned back into the conversation.

“-saw it!” Pierce expressed with surprise, “I _refuse_ to believe that I never noticed it.”

Jaesa was looking dumbfounded, and Talos blinked in confusion.

“What are we discussing?” he asked, and Vette gave an agreeing nod. She had no idea what was so interesting.

“On Friday, Quinn was wearing a _wedding ring_.” Pierce muttered, faintly nauseated. “Some poor girl _married_ him.”

Vette’s jaw dropped.

“What? No way.” She shook her head. “We’re not blind, we would definitely have noticed.”

“That’s what I said!” Jaesa agreed, more passionate than Vette had ever seen her.

“Perhaps he doesn’t usually wear it in the office?” Talos mused, tapping his chin. “Some people prefer not to if they’re very private. He might have forgotten to take it off.”

“Right, but can we get back to the fact that he’s _married?_ ” Pierce stressed. “I fear for the state of the world when some mug agrees to marry someone with the personality of a pedantic rock.”

Fighting the urge to give a hysterical laugh, Vette shook her head.

“Unless she’s as boring as he is. They sit at home and discuss the colour beige for six hours until they both go and plug themselves in for the night to charge or whatever.”

Jaesa hid a smile at her joke, but Pierce groaned.

“No. I can’t live in a world where there are two people that are that weird and dull. I _refuse_.”

Vette was about to respond when a blur passed through her cone of vision and impacted Pierce’s leg with a soft ‘thump’ before falling to the floor.

She blinked and peered at the bundle on the floor.

A child.

Well, okay then.

The child seemed no worse for wear and picked himself up again, swaying on his little legs. He was dishevelled and beaming, his dungarees covered in grass stains and his hair standing up like he had stuck his finger in a socket.

“Hello.” He said happily, giving a cute little wave like he hadn’t just run into a bench.

Vette grinned at him, leaning down to his level. He looked to be around three years old and was absolutely adorable.

“Hey,” she greeted. “You’re a speedy one, aren’t you?”

The little boy nodded, guileless.

“I was running.” He informed them seriously with a hint of a lisp, and Vette saw Jaesa melt, just as Pierce grinned.

“I saw,” she assured him. “Where’s your parents?”

Before the boy could answer, a shadow fell over them.

A man was hurrying towards them, looking relieved and amused.

“Hey, sorry about him.” He greeted, giving them all a film-star grin.

He was good looking in a tanned, rugged sort of way, his dark hair curling to his shoulders and a full mouth stretched into a charming smile on an angular face.

He bent down and tapped the little boy on the nose.

“What did I say in the car?” he asked, enough in his tone to show that this was something the little boy should have remembered.

The child looked thoughtful.

“Not to stick my head out of the window?” he answered, and the man sighed, pretending not to be amused.

“Well, I did say that. I also said not to run off anywhere were daddy can’t see you, okay?”

The little boy nodded, smiling.

“Okay.”

Shaking his head, the man straightened as the boy hugged his knees.

“Sorry for that,” he chuckled. “He’s like a ninja sometimes. I’m Ven’fir, and this is my son, Raikan.” He introduced. “Say hello, Rai.”

“Hello.” The boy gamely responded, still happy to cuddle his father’s leg.

“He’s adorable.” Jaesa suddenly burst out, eyes sparkling.

Ven’fir laughed, nodding.

“Isn’t he? He’s a little terror, really.” He glanced down, and, in one practised motion, scooped up the little boy and balanced him on his hip. Raikan immediately cuddled into the embrace, resting his head on his father’s shoulder. Vette melted a little.

“How old is he?” she asked, smiling.

“He just turned three.” Ven’fir informed them, smiling, and keeping his son close.

Pierce, smiling gently and waving as the little boy stared at him, made a face, and got a delighted, tired little giggle.

Ven’fir chuckled.

“Oh, you’re going to be his new favourite person.” He assured Pierce. “His sister is only one and he’s already figured out that she makes funny faces when he bothers her.” He said dryly.

Talos smiled, although didn’t make to take the child’s attention.

“Are you out here enjoying the sun?”

Ven’fir nodded.

“Yeah. I brought the kids out for the day.” He explained. “I’m a stay-at-home-dad, so I appreciate any time they aren’t destroying the house and everything in it.” He joked, grinning. He seemed incredibly open, and Vette immediately liked him.

If Vette had a man like _that_ at home, she wouldn’t be spending _any_ time away from the house. Any time not spent looking after his children must have been spent in the gym because he looked more than solid underneath his tight t-shirt.

Very nice _indeed_.

Jaesa, excited about the prospect of more children, smiled and opened her mouth to ask before being cut off.

“ _There_ you are.”

Vette felt herself jump at that voice, a feeling of surprise spiking through her and making her belly clench.

What the _fuck_ was _he_ doing here? Could she get no peace?!

She turned and her jaw dropped.

Quinn was striding towards them, his appearance the usual stiff formality they expected, but he had a toddler on one hip, carrying the dozing little girl like it was nothing.

He fixed his eyes on their new acquaintance, and Vette felt her mind come to a grinding halt.

Quinn barely spared them a glance before turning his attention to Ven’fir, who smiled at him.

“I wondered where you and Rai had escaped to.” Quinn said dryly, and Ven’fir beamed at him.

“Making new friends.” He teased. “Is she asleep?”

Quinn nodded, idly brushing his fingers over the little girl’s wispy blonde hair as she snoozed against his shoulder.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “She’ll start getting grumpy if she wakes up now.”

“Swap?” Ven’fir asked with a chuckle.

To their abject amazement, Quinn smiled back at him, fond and warm.

With a little fumbling but with grace borne of practice, they swapped the children in their arms, Ven’fir setting Raikan down long enough to take hold of his baby sister and for Quinn to scoop him up. Now situated with their parents, the children started to nod back off.

“I see you’ve met my husband,” Quinn said flatly, his blue eyes settling on them. “And my son.”

“I didn’t know you were married.” She blurted out dumbly.

Or gay. Or with a man so hot he put the sun to shame.

Quinn gave an elegant shrug.

“You never asked.” He said simply, and of _course_ she hadn’t.

Jaesa, ever the diplomat, engaged them in conversation while Vette and Pierce picked their jaws up off the floor.

They shared a look at said ‘what the _fuck?’_ before turning back to the talk.

Quinn was holding a sleepy toddler on his hip, apparently unconcerned with how they were staring at him.

This was the first time Vette had seen him outside the office, let alone in _casual clothes._

He looked… normal. In honesty, he looked the stereotypical power-dad, what with the fancy sunglasses hanging from the buttons of his loose shirt, and the chinos that had been so impeccably pressed she could cut herself on the crease.

Ven’fir, on the other hand, was all laid-back style with his tight t-shirt and artfully worn jeans.

Ugh.

That was so unfair.

Quinn, the driest, most pedantic man in the universe, had a husband so hot he damn near melted through the asphalt.

He had _kids._

Adorable, well behaved kids.

Was there no justice in the world?

Her mind well and truly blown, she turned into the conversation again. Sure enough, Quinn was being pleasant and nice and everything he _wasn’t_ in the office.

Was it all an act?

Was he trying to pretend he _wasn’t_ an absolute terror because the super-hot-husband was around?

She felt her brow crease, and Ven’fir shot her a grin when he noticed.

“He's a nuisance in the office, isn’t he?” he asked knowingly, a smile playing about his face as the others continued talking without them.

She blushed at being caught out.

“Uh, he's not that bad.” She tried, but Ven’fir just laughed, his grey eyes crinkling like he'd heard a grand joke.

“No need to sugar coat it, he's a right bastard when he's working.” He smirked, and his cheer was so infectious that she couldn’t help but smile back.

He settled down on the bench next to her, adjusting his hold on his daughter so she was comfortable and was less likely to wake up.

At his feet was a large bag of assorted child related paraphernalia, and he stretched out his legs with a sigh.

“I used to work with him, so I know exactly how you feel.” He grinned.

Vette blinked, curious.

“You did? Is that how you met?”

He nodded, the sunlight making his skin look like burnished bronze.

“Yeah. I worked for a defence contractor while he was still in the army.”

She stared.

“He was in the army?” she blurted, baffled. “How long ago was that?!”

“Six years, give or take a month or so.” He smiled. “He left when he was in his mid-thirties.”

“That would make him like... forty.” She muttered, “He is _not_ forty.”

“He is.” Ven’fir said with a sly grin. He reminded Vette of a fox, or perhaps a playful big cat. She got the impression that as friendly as he seemed, he would be difficult to deal with if he was a constant presence. “Looks good, doesn’t he?”

She glanced over.

Okay, he _did_ look good in a weird way. He wasn’t her type, though.

“I guess.” She wrinkled her nose, and he laughed.

“Anyway. I worked for my families defence business, and he _hated me.”_ He grinned, fond. “I won him over though.”

“Clearly.” She murmured, fascinated.

“Mmhmm. We dropped out of contact for a while until a friend mentioned that he'd left the army, and I got in contact again. Long story short; I’m very persuasive, we dated for a while, got married and I quit my job when we decided that we wanted kids.”

He idly brushed his fingers over his daughter’s wispy blond hair. She was sound asleep, her plump little hands gently holding onto the fabric of his t-shirt.

“And then he started working at your office.” He finished with a little chuckle.

“You quit your job?” she asked, surprised. “That's a big sacrifice to make.”

He looked sheepish.

“Not really. I didn’t need the money, and I didn’t much enjoy it anyway. I much prefer being at home with the kids if I’m honest. Mal does his share too, but he can’t stand not being at work. He does _more_ than his share, honestly.” He rolled his eyes. “That man doesn’t know when to take a break.”

She smiled softly.

‘Mal' was a cute nickname, and suddenly Quinn seemed so much more _human_. It was odd, but knowing a little bit about him made him seem less like a monster, especially meeting his family and understanding some of the reasons why he was the way he was.

“He's still a prick in meetings, though.” Ven’fir grinned. “I hear him sometimes, if he's working from home. I always make sure to tell him every time how much of a dick he is when he gets off the call.”

Unable to stifle her laugh, Vette cackled and attracted the attention of the others.

Quinn glanced over, his expression dry.

“You’re telling stories about me again, aren’t you?” he asked Ven’fir, whose innocent expression would have had him convicted on it alone.

“Only the good ones.” He assured, sending his partner a charming smile.

Quinn raided an eyebrow, amused.

“I see.” He drawled in a tone that said he didn’t buy that for a second. “We should get going. I’d rather not have Aviah screaming down the whole park when she wakes up.”

He stood, balancing his son on his hip. The little boy was only three, but he was already getting big enough that Quinn had to hold him tight for fear of him getting too heavy.

Ven’fir shot Vette a wink and stood up himself, keeping his daughter close.

They looked like a cute family.

How _bizarre_.

Quinn gave a stiff, slightly awkward goodbye even as Ven’fir shot them a charming grin and a cheery wave.

She watched them leave, her brain turning over the new information.

“That was fucking weird.” She said at last, and Pierce nodded.

Jaesa was glowing, delighted at having gotten to meet such cute children.

Talos smiled.

“I wonder if he'll relax a bit more now?”

There was a pause, and Vette gave an unladylike snort.

“I won’t hold my breath.”

* * *

On Monday morning, Vette was fixing herself a coffee when she saw Quinn, back in his perennial suit and tie, talking sharply on the phone as he walked.

On his finger was his wedding ring, plain for all to see.

She smiled, and finished making her coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ven'fir would be the best dad, I've decided. Not the most orderly or authoritative, but that's what Mal is for. :P


	10. Crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ven’fir was no stranger to ending up in tight spots, but the doctor that treats him is really something.

Ven’fir pressed himself against the wall, his body aching as he grinned.

His split lip hurt like hell, and he could feel the bruising on his torso throb dully, the blood trickling from his hairline a steady stream of annoyance.

The other guy was worse.

Blue lights illuminated the area, and he carefully picked his way through the alleyway in between two buildings, slipping off the more brightly lit streets and into the shadow.

His feet slapped against the wet, grimy concrete as he dodged past full bins and stacked crates.

These alleys felt like a world away from the main streets, full of shops and tourists and lights.

He liked both worlds and moved between them with an ease a lot of people didn’t manage.

Of course, that was going to be a lot more difficult now he'd gone and angered the most ruthless mogul in the underworld, and just put his favourite henchman out of commission.

Draagh would not be waking up any time soon, and even if he did it would be to the inside of a cell.

Ven’fir's knuckles burned as he ran, his chest constricting painfully after every breath.

His legs were thankfully unscathed save for some bruises, but the rest of him was another story.

Sweat ran beaded his skin and caused his cuts to weep from the salt, and he cursed as the blood from the wound at his hairline dropped stinging blood into his eyes.

Draagh was a fucking madman, coming after him in public.

Still, stealing from Baras was on the list of top ten dumbest things Ven’fir had done, and it was a _long_ list.

He didn’t regret it, the man deserved more than a few less zeroes in his bank account for what he'd done to Ven’fir, but it had landed him in a world of trouble.

He wouldn’t say it hadn’t been fun, though.

He skidded around a corner and took his bearings for a moment, moving to head for sanctuary.

Vette would help him.

She always did.

His legs were about to give up on him by the time he hammered on the door, the metal rattling in its housing.

He knew the rickety door was a ruse, that behind it lay a veritable fortress or electronic security, but it wasn’t knowledge many others had.

His vision was starting to swim by the time the door opened to reveal a diminutive young woman, her hair braided in two thick plaits and dyed neon blue. Her eyes widened when she saw him, and she cursed, rushing to his side.

“Shit, what the hell happened to you?” she asked, moving to support him as she hauled him inside.

She wobbled as she took some of his weight.

“Fuck, what are you fucking made of?” she grunted as she half dragged him inside.

He managed a weak laugh, but his head was pounding, and he was _fairly_ sure he had a concussion, considering how enthusiastic Draagh had been to introduce his head to the pavement.

“Sorry, I’ll lay off the nuggets.” He slurred as she deposited him on a ratty couch none too gently, her skinny frame barely able to lift him.

“You had better,” she muttered, her eyes concerned. She leaned over him, pianists’ fingers brushing over his skin to check his wounds.

“You look like you got hit by a truck.” She murmured, frowning.

He shook his head and regretted it as his head gave another painful throb.

“Nah, just Draagh.” He managed, closing his eyes. “He cornered me outside the Nexus Room casino.”

Vette clicked her tongue as she rooted around in a box for what he assumed were medical supplies.

“In public? He really hates you.”

Ven’fir cracked a tired grin.

“Yeah,” he agreed, pleased. “He does. Thought that now we were out of the ring, I would fold like paper. I beat the shit out of him and left him for the police.”

Vette gave an approving grunt.

“Pretentious little fuck,” she muttered sourly. “He always ignored me.”

Ven’fir hissed as she dabbled at his cuts with an alcohol wipe, and she smacked him lightly on the shoulder.

“Stop squirming,” she ordered. “You survived getting the shit kicked out of you, you can survive me disinfecting your cuts.”

He smiled at her, fond.

“Yeah, but you’re scarier than Draagh.” He assured and she grinned at him.

“Of course I am.” She teased, and the sting started to fade.

His vision swam and his head felt like it was wadded with cotton. He could taste blood in his mouth.

“V'tte?” He managed. “Gonna pass out.”

A sharp sting brought him back with a jolt, his eyes barely able to stay open. His eyelids felt like they were made of lead.

“Don’t you dare.” She hissed, worried. Her wide blue eyes were fixed on him, and her face, washed out from long hours in front of a computer screen, was pinched and drawn.

She moved away for a moment but was soon back, pressing something cold against his head.

“I’m calling a doctor.” She muttered, concerned.

“No doctors,” he tried, waving a hand and wincing.

She scowled.

“No _legal_ doctors, I know that. I’m not stupid.” She grunted, pressing the bag of frozen peas to his head as she used her phone with the other. “I know a guy. He's a hardass, but he's good.”

She seemed reluctant to compliment the man, but Ven’fir wasn’t in the mood to think on it.

The doctor wouldn’t say anything, he would made sure of that.

* * *

It seemed like an age before there was an impatient sounding knock at Vette's door.

Her place looked like it should have been condemned years ago, but the hacktivist had made it more than comfortable inside.

Wires and assorted tech cluttered every available space, and chocolate bar wrappers were here and there like so much trashy confetti.

“Do _not_ fall asleep.” She threatened him as she pressed the frozen carrots into his hand, the peas having melted some time ago.

Wincing, he did was he was told, listening as she disengaged the locks and gave a snarky greeting to whoever was there.

To his surprise, he heard a snippy sounding voice reply, the accent like cut glass.

Hm, not what he had expected.

The man that walked in wielding a rucksack and scowl was really nothing what Ven’fir expected when Vette had said she ‘knew a guy’.

He looked like he had stepped straight off a fancy medical board, all snooty look and posh, put together clothes.

He looked older than Ven’fir by a couple of years, the silver at his temples giving him gravitas that his frown didn’t.

Carefully maintained stubble clung to his jaw, and his eyes, too dark to make out the colour in the low light, were fixed on Ven’fir.

“This him?” he asked, setting his bag down before Vette could answer.

“Yeah. I think he’s got a concussion. Dunno what else.” She replied.

Ven’fir looked up blearily. Damn, Doctor Cheekbones was _pretty._

Without addressing Ven’fir or replying to Vette, the man perched himself on the edge of the sofa that Ven’fir was valiantly trying not to pass out on and moved to examine him.

Out of instinct, Ven’fir attempted to bat his hands away, but the doctor glared.

“Let me examine you,” he ground out, irritated. “Or you can take your chances with an untreated concussion and _hope_ you wake up tomorrow.”

His tone was snide and baiting, and Ven’fir would have appreciated that more if it weren’t directed at him.

He continued examining Ven’fir, at one point shining a small pencil light into his eyes that made him wince and sluggish try to push the doctor away.

The man gripped his wrist with surprising strength for his lean frame and held him fast until Ven’fir wasn’t struggling any more.

Eventually, he stood up.

“It's a concussion, although a mild one.” He said, before giving Ven’fir a beady stare. “You'll need to rest, avoid activity and get some food in you. No loud music, no video games, or other intensive sensory stimuli. No alcohol or drugs.” He said sternly. “Now, you look like you have further injuries. Shirt off.”

Ven’fir managed a tired grin.

“Why doctor, it's only our first date.”

The doctor glared, and the haughty look on his face belied the faint pink of his cheeks.

Ven’fir liked him. He was cute in a weird, grumpy way.

“Shut up.” The man muttered, digging through his bag. “Shirt off, now.”

“Don’t I even get to know your name?” he asked as he painfully extracted himself from his jacket and shirt.

It was a struggle to pull the henley over his head, and Vette jumped in to help him before he toppled over. He shot her a grin.

“Always knew you wanted to get your hands under my shirt.” He teased, and she flushed, rolling her eyes.

“You’re so vain,” she retorted. “You narcissist.”

He attempted a shrug and got a lopsided wiggle.

“True.” He teased. “But when I look this good, who can blame me?”

She rolled her eyes again, throwing his bloodstained shirt at his face.

The shirt was probably unsalvageable, which was a pity because he _liked_ that shirt. It fit over his broad shoulders and was probably a size too small as it clung to every inch of him, which was _exactly_ why he's bought it in the first place.

Now sans shirt, he shivered a little in the recycled air of Vette's hideout. The AC ran constantly to keep all her tech cool, and the hacktivist complained frequently about it.

He was more beaten up than he had thought.

Draagh was a tank of a man, and even Ven’fir's speed couldn’t get him out of every hit.

His torso was red and angry looking, the bruises already turning an ugly black and blue. Cuts and scrapes littered his skin, and some deeper wounds sluggishly seeped blood as they congealed.

His hands were torn up, knuckles scraped and gouged from thrown punches, his palms skinned from where he had caught himself on the pavement.

“I’m going to kill him.” He growled, sour.

The doctor gave him a look.

“You’re not killing anyone in this state,” he murmured, peering at the wounds, taking a large bottle and some gauze from his bag. “And this will sting.” He said as an afterthought, and before Ven’fir could properly register his words, his side was on fire.

He cursed the air blue, snarling out things that would have made a sailor blush. Without thinking, he grabbed the closest thing to hold on to, which happened to be the doctors’ arm.

His grip was vice like, but the other man didn’t react either than to thin his mouth, grim.

“I’ll be done soon.” The doctor assured, oddly comforting after being so cold earlier. Ven’fir grunted as he continued to clean and disinfect the wounds, the throbbing pain morphing into a sharp sting.

Finally, it was done.

The doctor, whose name Ven’fir still didn’t know, inspected the wounds, gloved hands clinically inspecting his torso.

His hands under the thin gloves were cool, and Ven’fir fought not to shiver as those slender fingers prodded and touched. The touches were clinical and professional, but they felt nice against his battered flesh.

He really was pretty, he thought idly as the man frowned at something that made Ven’fir wince when he pressed on it.

He had the kind of bone structure many would kill for, and he clearly kept himself in shape. His eyes were a distinct shade of dark blue he hadn’t seen on many others, and the flecks of silver at his temples gave him a distinguished air that Ven’fir liked.

“This will need stitches.” The man decided after a moment, a crease between his brows. He was pointing to the largest gash on Ven’fir's side, the cut swooping around from under his ribs to almost reach his belly button.

“The others will do with suture tape and glue, but this will reopen if I don’t stitch it.” He murmured. He straightened and turned to Vette.

“I need warm water, towels and something for him to bite down on.” He said sternly, and she threw him a nasty look.

“Yes General.” She snapped, sarcastic.

The man gave a humourless smile.

“It was Captain, actually.” He corrected, something snide in his expression. Vette sneered and disappeared to find the items he had requested.

Ven’fir looked at him in a new light. Former military? He wondered how a man like that ended up patching up criminals like him?

“Captain, eh?” he prompted, smiling.

The doctor nodded, coming to sit by him again.

“Yes.” He said simply, not elaborating.

“Captain... what?” Ven’fir wheedled, fishing for a name.

He gave Ven’fir an unimpressed look.

“Captain Quinn.” He murmured, entertaining Ven’fir anyway. “Malavai Quinn.”

“Ven’fir.” He said with a grin, holding out his hand despite the sting.

Quinn hesitated for a moment but shook the proffered hand. His grip was firm and brief.

“A pleasure.” He murmured like he didn’t really mean it but needed to say _something_.

He peered at Ven’fir's hands.

“You've really torn yourself up.” He said disapproving. “What _were_ you doing?”

Ven’fir shrugged, leaning back into the ratty, surprisingly comfortable sofa. He felt like he could sleep forever.

“Long story. Short version is that I ended up in a fight with a walking tank.” He said with a laugh, ignoring the lance of hurt that caused. “I beat the shit out of him though.”

Quinn was about the reply when Vette returned with what he had asked for, and he thanked her without looking at her. Ven’fir saw her roll her eyes.

The good doctor didn’t have much of a bedside manner, it seemed.

Ven’fir watched as Quinn prepared his workspace, clearly used to working in less than stellar conditions.

Quinn caught him watching, and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

“I was an army medic for eleven years.” He said dryly. “I’ve worked with far worse.”

“How’d you end up here then?” Ven’fir asked as he eyes the large curved needle with trepidation.

Quinn didn’t look at him.

“I’d rather not say.” He stated flatly. “It's not a pleasant memory.”

“Sorry.”

Quinn shrugged and ignored him.

Ven’fir waved away the offer of an old hairbrush to bite down on but did ask Vette for something strong to drink.

Quinn glared.

“No alcohol. Your blood wont clot properly.”

Ven’fir gave him a smirk and, very deliberately, threw back a shot of something golden that burned his throat.

Quinn's expression soured.

“Do that again, and you’ll be sewing yourself shut.” He snarled, entirely serious. He snatched the bottle and thrust it in Vette's direction.

“Don’t let him have more.” He snapped, and she scowled at being ordered around in her own home. “If he gets drunk and can’t stop the bleeding, I hope you’ll think it was worth it.” He said nastily, showing a mean temper.

With steady hands, Quinn pushed the needle through bronze skin, and Ven’fir cursed. That fucking _hurt_.

Vette found it hard to watch and set about cleaning the space around them, ignoring the curses coming from Ven’fir’s mouth.

“What’s the long story?”

Ven’fir blinked at Quinn's apparent non-sequitur.

The doctor didn’t look up from his work.

“You said the short story was that you got into a fight. What’s the long story?” he asked, attention on the needle.

Ven’fir grinned.

“You’re trying to take my mind off the fact that your stabbing me.”

 _“_ I'm _suturing_ you, and yes.”

Ven’fir sighed, tilting his head back.

“I used to work for Baras.” He said eventually. “I fought in his ring. I was his attack dog.” He admitted. “Then this new guy turns up, and he's an absolute monster. I assume he’s just some guy out for a shot at the prize money. They’d throw themselves at me, you know? Get tempted by the prize money, buy in and then end up against me.”

“You were there to make sure none of them actually won.” Quinn murmured.

Ven’fir nodded, tired.

“Yeah. Some of them were good, but none of them were as good as me.” He said with a little grin. “So anyway, this guy is a fucking _beast._ We fought. He lost each time, but it got closer and closer each match. I kinda liked him. He seemed like a good guy. I guess he got frustrated.”

He sighed.

“One night, before the match, I get a visit from him. Things get a little heated,” he said with a grimace. “And not in the ‘I’m going to beat the shit out of you’ way.”

It had not been his proudest moment. He'd always had a problem with thinking with his dick, and it had finally come back to bite him. Draagh, before all the scars and tattoos and bullshit he’d done to himself, had been an attractive man.

“Anyway, he dosed me with something. Fucked me up. I lost my match against him, and it turned out he worked for Baras too. He was my _replacement._ ” He spat the word with venom, still holding into the anger. “Yeah. So, I’m fucked up, I’ve lost my match, and I know what’s gonna happen next. Baras never did tolerate failure.” He shrugged. “He sent some of his boys to kill me. No loose ends, you know? I sent them home in body bags.” He said with a nasty smile. “Baras thought I was dead, so I decided to get my own back.”

“What did you do?” Quinn asked, voice interested. He seemed to be genuinely curious.

Ven’fir gave a smile that would have made the Cheshire Cat proud.

“I robbed his casino.” He admitted and laughed when Quinn glanced up with disbelieving eyes. “I had help, of course. Still. We cleaned that fucking vault _out_.”

“One day I’ll kill him.” He added, wistful. “But for now, I’ve settled for humiliation. Obviously, he’s _pissed_. He sent Draagh after me, but that fucker still can’t bring me down in a fair fight.”

There was a sense of vicious pride there, and he let it show.

“You know,” Vette murmured, a small smile playing about the corners of her mouth. “He still has his other casino.”

Ven’fir raised an eyebrow, almost getting used to the pain of the sutures.

“We already hit the Citadel, and now you want to take the Dark Temple?” He asked, a little bud of something taking seed in his belly.

Vette shrugged, although he could tell she was at least partly serious.

“If you feel like it.” She demurred, smirking.

“We would need a bigger crew.” Ven’fir pointed out.

“And a better plan.”

“More money.”

“Probably a base of operations.”

“Some serious hardware.”

They paused, looking at each other. They grinned.

Quinn tied off the sutures and neatly finished his work.

“Well, you won’t be doing anything for the next few days.” He said, frankly. “You'll need to rest and make sure that concussion is gone before doing anything dangerous.”

Ven’fir gave him a smile, looking at him from under his eyelashes.

“Are you dangerous, doctor?”

Pink spread over Quinn's cheekbones, and he stuck his nose in the air.

“Immeasurably.” He retorted sharply, choosing to ignore the innuendo.

He packed up his implements and neatly stowed them away, before tossing a rattling tub to Ven’fir, who caught it.

“Take one per day, and another half if the pain gets too much.” He said simply, standing and surveying them.

“Vette, the favour is paid.” He said simply, and she nodded reluctantly.

“Yeah, I guess it is.” She muttered. “A pity, I liked having you under my thumb.”

His lip curled, but his expression cleared a little when he headed for the door, pausing before he left to look back at Ven’fir. He could have sworn there was a small smile on that pale face.

“Don’t die.” He said in lieu of a goodbye and disappeared into the shadows, letting the door close behind him.

Ven’fir sighed, blowing out a breath through pursed lips.

Vette came to sit next to him, tucking her legs underneath her.

“I think Baras needs another lesson, don’t you?” she murmured, eyes bright.

Ven’fir grinned and let his eyes drift to the door.

“You know, I think you may be right.”

* * *

Ven’fir was starting to think that Vette was a bad influence on him.

He leaned against the bar of the fancy hotel room that he had acquired and took a bite of his sandwich.

Vette was perched in one corner, her laptop on her knees as she furiously typed something Ven’fir had no hope of understanding.

The hubbub of voices was soothing in a strange way, and he looked over the group of individuals who had congregated at their request. Most of them didn’t know each other and some had come from far afield, but Ven’fir wouldn’t settle for anything but the best.

Food and drink had been laid out and if one didn’t know better, one would think it merely a gathering of friends or co-workers, rather than the cadre of hardened criminals that they really were.

He scanned the room.

Nox was in one of the fancy, high-backed armchairs, his waspish presence enough to deter most people from attempting conversation with him. Ven’fir had never seen him in anything but his customary suit, black from his shirt to his cufflinks and perfectly shined shoes. Dark glasses covered his unseeing eyes, coal black and unnerving. Nox may have been blind, but he knew how to make an impression with his appearance.

Ven’fir and Nox went way back, and if there was one guy Ven’fir trusted to fund and plan their little operation, it was the shady mogul currently sipping Empress Grey from a delicate china teacup.

If Nox was the money and brains, Pierce was the muscle.

The redheaded man stood head and shoulders above most people; his huge stature built for intimidation. He was grinning at something Vette was saying, and she was smirking as she typed. He handled the heavy lifting and anything that went ‘boom'.

Kal lounged against the wall, scanning the room as only a spy could. The former agent provocateur and hired assassin was about as trustworthy as third-world tap water, but he was undeniably the best in the world at what he did. He was loyal for the duration of a job, and that much Ven’fir _could_ trust. He was smiling, sly and gorgeous, engaging a grumpy looking Andronikos Revel in conversation.

Andronikos was many things, but he was the best driver Ven’fir knew of. Having a good getaway driver could mean life or death, and as unsociable as the man was, he was the best set of wheels one could want.

Vette would cover tech, and he trusted her to handle herself. She and Pierce were talking to Jaesa Wilsaam, who was the best con artist Ven’fir had ever met. Jaesa could charm a mark out of their life savings with a smile and some soft-spoken words. Ven’fir wasn’t entirely convinced that she wasn’t actually psychic.

The last of their crew was Ashara Zavros, a young woman that, at first glance, was nothing more than a competent bit of eye candy and personal assistant for her boss, Nox.

What most people _didn’t_ know was that she was a black belt in more martial arts than Ven’fir had fingers, and she fulfilled her dual position of Nox' personal assistant and bodyguard with admirable gusto.

He grinned as he levered himself off the marble topped counter, and gently tapped the side of his glass with a cocktail mixer.

Heads turned his way.

“Welcome.” he greeted, flashing them all a grin. “Some of you already know me, and you can tell embarrassing stories later, but for those who don’t know me, my name is Ven’fir.”

He paused for dramatic effect, looking each of them in the eye.

“And I want to rob The Dark Temple casino.”

Vette grinned, excited. This had been a long time in the planning.

“You're all the best at what you do. Every last one of you is here because we believe you have the skills and grit to pull this off. Some of you are here because you want to stick it to Baras.” He said, casting his gaze around. “Some of you are here for the money. Some are here because you like a challenge.”

Another pause.

“Well, I can tell you that whatever your reasons for being here, we've got what you came for.”

He grinned.

“We’ve handpicked all of you for you for this job, and now that everyone has had a chance to sample the booze and make a dent in the food, we can get down to business.”

Ven’fir laid out the skeleton plan, going over each of their parts and roles. He saw slow nods and a frown or two, but everyone seemed at least on board to listen to what he was saying. That was good.

“So that’s the roles sorted. We-"

“Wait.”

Ven’fir blinked at the interruption and saw Andronikos frowning.

“Where's the fire support?” he asked. “Guns and the like? I assume we're going in fairly hot.”

Kal, leaning against the wall, gave a catlike grin.

“I can handle that.”

Andronikos shook his head.

“You’re close quarters for this, remember? We need someone front and centre for intel and wetwork, and that’s you. We can’t have you on fire support too.”

Ven’fir frowned, thinking. Before he could open his mouth, Vette gave a small smile.

“It's okay, we're just waiting for one more.” She assured.

This was news to Ven’fir.

“We are?” he asked, baffled. She gave a little grin, playful and cheeky.

“Yeah. He's running a little late.”

He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of her going off and inviting someone he didn’t know, but he trusted her to at least meet the person she’d brought in. He would decide later if they would stay.

There was a knock at the door, and Vette jumped up to answer it.

She peered through the peep hole, and a wide grin covered her face.

Opening the door with speed, she held it open.

The man that walked in was not someone Ven’fir thought he would ever see again.

Malavai Quinn hadn’t changed much in the year since Ven’fir had last seen him, although his hair showed more silver and there was a new scar near his eye that went from his temple to curl under the socket.

He was carrying a bag and a large case and dressed smartly. His dark turtleneck and slacks made him look even more pale in the hotel lights.

Fondly, Ven’fir wondered if he knew what casual _meant_.

“Good afternoon,” he said as he entered, tone flat as always. He glanced at Ven’fir and his mouth lifted a little into a subdued smile. “I hope I’m not too late?”

Ven’fir couldn’t help a broad smile, and a feeling of pleasant excitement made his belly flutter.

“Not at all.” He greeted, not bothering to hide how pleased he was to see the other man.

Vette crossed over to them after closing the door, smirking.

“Everyone, I would like to introduce Dr Quinn, our fire support.”

Ven’fir raised an eyebrow.

“And medic, of course.” Vette added hastily.

Pierce frowned.

“You're a _doctor_.” He said, accusing. It was clear he didn’t see Quinn as able to back them up in a fight.

Quinn gave him the look that said that he wasn’t impressed, and Ven’fir had missed that haughty, bitchy attitude. He had only met the doctor for a few hours and under trying circumstances, but he had left an impression.

“Officer in the Third Battalion, Royal Anglican Regiment. Decorated for valor in combat and distinguished service as an army medic.” Quinn recited; voice clipped. “I can handle my own, thank you.”

With little flourish, he set down his case and popped the clasps. On the outside it looked like a large briefcase, normal and boring.

Inside, a disassembled rifle lay snugly in its foam, immaculately maintained.

“I brought my own hardware.” The doctor murmured. “I hope that won’t be an issue?”

Ven’fir had never wanted someone as he wanted him.

He had a thing for competence and a pretty face, and Quinn ticked those boxes handily.

“No problem at all.” He managed, smitten.

Vette popped up beside him and gave him a grin.

“I saw a hole in our team and Quinn came to mind.” She explained. “He's more than happy to stick it to Baras.”

A glance at the doctor said that it was true. His expression was of distaste, his nose faintly wrinkled and something dark cast over his eyes.

“He did this.” He said simply, brushing a finger over the scar at his eye. “Among other things. I should like to put a bullet through his head.”

Andronikos smirked.

“Well then, I think we have our fire support.”

Nox nodded.

“Welcome aboard, Quinn.” He greeted in his smooth, deep voice. Quinn inclined his head politely, stone faced.

Ven’fir watched him greet the other members of the team with polite distance and fought not to lick his lips as his eyes lingered on the doctors’ profile.

He would have that man in his bed by the end of this, he swore it.

He was after three prizes.

The money, Baras head, and Malavai Quinn.

A smile spreading over his face as he surveyed his team, he felt good about his chances.

He always had liked a challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, hear me out.
> 
> Oceans Eleven, but SWTOR.
> 
> Also, Nox is so Goth that he makes the colour black look cheery.


	11. Daemons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ven’fir and Malavai’s soul animals seem to really like each other. Malavai is an absolute mess.

Malavai wasn’t sure how he felt about his boss.

Well, that was a lie. He knew _exactly_ how he felt about his boss, and that was the issue.

Ven’fir Polaris of _Polaris Industries_ was the kind of larger than life character that Malavai didn’t usually like, but he had managed to worm his way into Malavai's respect anyway.

He was also the most attractive man Malavai had ever met, and Malavai was absolutely head-over-heels in love with him.

That, among other things, was a _problem_.

With a sigh, he ran his hands over his Daemons fur, listening to the throaty purr. Ori was a Russian Blue tomcat, slender and graceful. His dense, silver tipped blue coat was immaculate, and Malavai was certain that he spent more time washing himself than he did anything else.

Of course, that was a reflection of himself, but already knew he was neat to the point of neuroticism.

He listened to the quiet, enjoying the feeling of warm fur under his fingertips.

Some people found their Deamons form much later in life, and Malavai envied them a little.

A Daemon was a soul, pure and simple. It was _his_ soul, and his personality and everything that was Malavai Quinn.

During childhood and the formative years, the appearance of a Daemon tended to change in line with the formation of the personality and baseline. Scientific studies had been done by the thousand on the topic, and Malavai had read more than a few papers on the subject.

His Daemon had stabilised early.

Very early.

Apparently, he wasn’t the mercurial type.

He smiled tiredly as Ori stretched, butting his hand for more scratches. His huge, sea glass green eyes blinked slowly, affectionate.

Even if Ori was technically just his unburdened soul, Malavai liked his company more than most people he knew.

Which, if one thought about it, was a bit sad.

Finally, he could put it off no longer.

He stood up from his desk and, with a sigh and a general air of malcontent, he collected his papers and exited his office, stepping into the noise of the main bullpen. As a relatively senior member of the company, he had the enviable perk of his own office in which to work in peace, and he was more than happy to make use of it.

Ori followed him, gracefully dropping down from the desk and staying close as he walked.

The elegant cat was quiet and intelligent, albeit rather standoffish and aloof with people he didn’t know.

Malavai studiously ignored what that meant.

The main office was a hubbub of voices and the occasional Daemon call, and Malavai hurried along to his meeting.

The marketing executives were having a powwow in front of the large whiteboard on the wall, their assortment of Daemons with them.

Someone had a scarlet macaw that perched on the whiteboard, while the man presenting had a beautiful yet docile looking ball python draped around his neck. A maned wolf was sitting obediently at someone's heels.

A tiny splash of iridescent colour caught his eye as a hummingbird darted in front of his vision, followed by Vette, the PA to the boss himself, dashing past him with an arm full of files.

“Watch it!” she called with a grin on her face, twin braids streaming behind her.

His lip curled, and he neatly moved out of her way.

With a sigh, he stepped around the chattering macaque that was staring at Ori, ignoring the veritable zoo that was the sales department.

Sales were _loud._

He walked through finance, with their somewhat quieter menagerie, and through to analysis, which held a surprising number of birds. A great grey owl stared at him from atop a perch, head following him as he walked.

Someone even had a stunning koi carp swimming in a tank at their desk, and Malavai glanced at it as it watched its partners computer screen with intelligence no other fish would show. Someone's scarab beetle was playing with a plain, tufty looking guinea pig while a small caiman snoozed under a desk.

A beautiful orchid mantis, holding its forelegs to its mouth like a shy concubine, watched him from the shoulder of the legal counsel, who chatted work with one of the business analysts, her tarantula almost out of sight as it hid on her shoulder, behind her curtain of hair.

Ori, svelte and prim, ignored everyone.

Ven’fir's office was at the end of the bullpen, set to the side and given privacy by the frosted glass in the windows.

One couldn’t see anything inside, not even blurry shapes.

With a sigh, he knocked.

“Come in!”

He pushed open the door, and came face to face with Ven’fir Polaris himself.

He was leaning back in his chair, tossing a brightly coloured stress ball from one hand to another. His richly tanned skin looked like burnished gold in the afternoon sun streaming in from his window, and he was smiling, his dark curls brushing his loosened collar.

He always looked like he had just stepped off a film set, wearing his expensive suit and watch like others would wear a t-shirt and jeans.

At his side, sprawled on the floor like a dangerous statue, was a Bengal tiger, lazily watching Malavai with lambent yellow eyes. It was _huge._

The big cat, named Tor, was a monster of a creature, all muscle and teeth, and it suited the man sitting behind the desk very well.

Ven’fir grinned, his grey eyes crinkling with humour.

“Malavai!” he greeted, as cheerful as ever. He waved expressively for Malavai to take a seat and he did so, glancing to the tiger that watched him, tail gently curling and uncurling on the floor.

He knew that it was a Daemon and wouldn’t hurt him, but those teeth still looked _large._

“Sir.” He murmured, and Ven’fir rolled his eyes.

“You can call me Ven, you know.” He reminded, “But you won’t.”

Malavai felt himself flush little.

He liked the formality.

It felt comfortable.

He needed to remember that in addition to being hot enough to melt eyeballs, Ven’fir was also his _boss._

No matter how much he wanted to bend the man over his stupidly messy desk and _ruin_ him, Malavai needed to pretend that he wasn’t affected by the flirting.

Or the fond looks.

Or the boyish, sweet smiles aimed his way when he wasn’t supposed to be looking.

Or the teasing.

Or-

Malavai steeled himself. Be cool. Be professional. Be detached.

Ven’fir gave him a goofy little grin, his eyes soft.

“Alright, if you insist. Ven'fir.”

 _Fuck_.

“Close enough. I’ll take what I can get.” Ven’fir said with a wink. He leaned back in his chair, stretching out an arm to idly scratch at his Daemons ears. The tiger’s eyes closed, enjoying the attention.

Malavai’s eyes dropped to where Ven’fir’s shirt was taut over his torso.

Oh, to drop to his knees and get under that desk...

Feeling his cheeks heating up, he tried to squash that line of thought.

“I’ve got the month end reports.” He blurted, awkward.

Ven’fir didn’t seem to notice his weirdness, and he held out his hand for the papers.

Malavai handed them over, unable to suppress a small jump as their fingers brushed.

Ven’fir was warm.

Very warm.

He would be lovely to cuddle up to-

No.

Besides, among the multitude of reasons why he shouldn’t be thinking about his boss like that, he wasn’t entirely sure if the man was even attracted to men.

No, that wasn’t true.

The flirting was a pretty obvious tell, but what if he wasn’t attracted to _Malavai_? Who would be, anyway? He'd had people flirt with him, he wasn’t so useless to be unaware that people found him physically attractive, but they all lost interest as soon as he started talking.

Men, women and anyone in between. He just... put people off. He always had. Too weird. Too neurotic. Too awkward. Too boring.

Any one of those could have been an overlookable flaw, but to be all of them? It was no wonder Malavai hadn’t been on a date in what was probably approaching a century.

So, what if Ven’fir just flirted with _everyone_ like that and Malavai was getting all worked up over something that wasn’t even there?

How embarrassing.

...

But he was _so_ gorgeous.

Ugh.

He outlined the reports, summarising them and falling into the technical headspace that came so naturally to him.

Ven’fir was listening, face neutral as he made a few notes and nodded every now and then.

Malavai's mouth might have been speaking about facts and figures, but his brain was steadily digging out every filthy fantasy and affectionate, fond thought it fought to dredge up from the archives of his memory.

Out of the corner of his eye, a movement almost made him lose track.

It was Ori, who was usually as primly obedient as Malavai was, and he was curiously nosing at Tor.

Oh.

Oh _no._

He forged on, reigning in his feelings and attempting to replace them with the icy distance he had thought he’d probably once had.

The tiger huffed, allowing Ori to come closer. The silvery cat was cautious but unafraid, and Malavai could only watch out of the corner of his eyes with mounting dread as his Daemon, the manifestation of his soul, rubbed up against that of his boss, his body language relaxed and affectionate.

He felt himself go bright red.

Tor allowed the affection and, with a playful huff, rolled over and gently used a massive paw to nudge Ori.

“-and so, uh, our conversion rate is up by... by...” he trailed off as the two cats started playing, wrestling with one another and staying close.

He forced himself to look back to Ven’fir, who was looking at him with a intense, penetrating gaze.

“By two percent!” He managed, desperately trying to keep a squeak out of his voice.

Ori was rolling on his back and batting playfully at the massive tiger, which seemed more than happy to join in the fun.

“And the market is currently looking quite bullish, with an increase in-"

The tiger, relaxed and playful, was grooming Ori, running a coarse tongue over the smaller cats glossy fur.

Ori, the little traitor, was curled up between two massive paws, steadily grooming Tor right back.

A low, rumbling purr filled the office as Ori made his pleasure known, and Malavai wanted to _die_.

He couldn’t find the words, and he felt himself clamming up, his face on fire.

Yeah, there was no explaining this away, considering his soul had just walked up to Ven’fir's and made itself right at home.

He took there, mortified and wishing for an emergency to burst in and save him.

Ven’fir looked at him.

Then he looked at their Daemons, curled up with one another, Ori purring up a storm and the tiger gently grooming him.

He didn’t _look_ angry.

Malavai wasn’t reassured.

“I- I...” he tried, “I don’t-“

Ven’fir stood up slowly, as sinuous as his Daemon, and walked over to him.

He was a physically imposing man, his broad shoulders and solid form accentuated by his impeccably tailored suit.

He had an inch or two on Malavai, but it might as well have been feet with how potent his presence suddenly was.

Malavai was convinced he was about to be fired.

Or made fun of.

There was no mistaking what he wanted, not with how his Daemon was still snuggling with Ven’fir’s own manifestation.

He felt sick.

Anxiety clawed at his windpipe and squeezed his throat until it hurt, and he desperately tried to think of some lie to explain away what he knew he couldn’t hide.

Ven’fir was standing in front of him, granite eyes boring into Malavai's own with an intensity that Malavai felt pinned by.

He opened his mouth without having a plan for the words that would come out, when a hand brushed his cheek.

He jumped, completely surprised by the unexpected touch, and that meant he never saw his boss move to press his lips to his.

For a moment, Malavai’s brain hadn’t caught up yet.

Then when Ven’fir shifted, his fingers curling over his jaw to tilt his head a little, everything felt far, far too real.

Ven’fir’s mouth was hot, and his hands were rough and warm. The hand that wasn’t at his face rested on his waist under his jacket, creating an electric buzz of feeling at the touch.

Malavai could feel the heat of him through their clothes, and _he wanted more of that_.

Just as Ven’fir began to pull away, no doubt put off by his lack of reaction, Malavai grabbed the front of his stupidly expensive suit jacket and pulled him in for another kiss.

This time, he was fully present for it.

Thoughts weren’t really happening for him, so he didn’t hesitate when Ven’fir deepened the kiss, and Malavai responded with enthusiasm.

His body felt hot and tingly, a feathery feeling in his belly made him lose his breath.

He kissed Ven’fir like he _needed_ it, and Ven’fir kissed back just the same.

Malavai wound a hand into dark curls, and kept the other man close, and he felt warm, solid hands settle on his waist.

He could smell the scent of the other man’s cologne, something warm and spiced that made his head swim.

He was so _warm._

He made an embarrassingly needy noise in the back of his throat as he let his own hand trail down Ven’fir’s side and to the small of his back where he kept him close.

They kissed like they weren’t in the office, mere meters away from their colleagues.

It was messy, it was heated, and it was _perfect._

To Malavai, it was like he was a drowning man and Ven’fir was air.

He wanted to be close to him for ever, to be completely wrapped up in him.

Eventually though, biology parted them.

Malavai was vaguely aware that he must look like a mess, his hair ruffled from where Ven’fir had run his fingers through it, his mouth kiss bitten and wet, and his suit rumpled. They were both panting, trying to control their breathing.

Ven’fir was no better, and he wore the look like he was on the red carpet.

His curls were wild and his eyes were half lidded and dazed, his mouth red and slick and grinning.

His shirt had somehow had even more buttons undone than when Malavai had walked in, even though he was sure that he hadn’t had the presence of mind to undo them.

The heat between them cooled to a simmer, and it was just enough to let thoughts filter through Malavai’s brain again.

He had kissed his boss.

He hadn’t just kissed him; he'd been all over him.

Oh God.

He could feel his already flushed cheeks turning cherry red, and a nasty, anxious feeling was beginning to curl in his gut.

He opened his mouth to stammer out some useless apology, but Ven’fir leaned in and kissed him again, quick and sweet.

Dazed, Malavai could only blink at him, peripherally aware that Ori and Tor were snuggling by the desk.

Ven’fir gave him a cute little grin.

“Finally.” He murmured, voice pitched low and intimate and just a little teasing. “I thought you’d never get it.”

Malavai stared at him.

“I- what?” he managed, a little distracted by how Ven’fir's body exuded heat like the sexiest furnace he’d ever seen.

With a little chuckle, Ven’fir reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Malavai’s brow, expression fond.

“For a bit there, I genuinely thought you weren’t into me.” He admitted, amused. “You didn’t flirt back so I thought you were either straight or not interested.”

Malavai made a noise like Ori being stepped on.

“I uh, I noticed.” He managed. “And I was interested. It's just... you’re my boss.”

Ven’fir shrugged.

“Yeah. That was why I wanted you to make the first move.”

Malavai relaxed a little, now it didn’t seem like he was about to be fired or laughed at.

“Dangerous.” He murmured, and Ven’fir laughed.

“I was beginning to lose hope.” He admitted. “But I think Ori had your back.”

At the mention of his Daemon, Malavai flushed.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen.” He muttered, awkward.

“Tor didn’t mind.” Ven’fir assured with a smirk, and the tiger gave a huff of what seemed like agreement.

He stayed close, like he couldn’t bear to be apart from Malavai.

It was a heady feeling.

“Ven’fir?” He asked, tone careful. “What do you want from me?”

Ven’fir blinked, baffled by the question.

Malavai hurried to explain, feeling awkward and insecure.

“Do you just want a quick screw?” He asked, cheeks colouring at his own crude words. Delicacy would have muddied his point, however. “An office affair? I don’t- I can’t do that.” He said in a rush. “I don’t want to be your toy. I’m sorry.”

Ven’fir looked at him like he was very sad about something, and Malavai couldn’t work out what it was.

“Why would you think I wanted that?” he asked gently, and Malavai wondered what he meant.

“Well,” he began awkwardly. Ven’fir's thumb was rubbing soothing circles into his hip, and even through his clothes that felt nice. “I assume you’re not here for my conversation skills,” he said with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Or anything that involves having to talk to me.”

There was that sadness again.

“Oh, Malavai.” He sighed, and without warning, pulled a surprised Malavai in for a hug.

It was nice.

More than nice.

Ven’fir was an all-encompassing kind of person, and that apparently translated into his hugs too.

After a few seconds of paralyzing surprise, Malavai let himself melt into his arms.

Ven’fir was so _warm_.

“I like you.” He heard the man rumble, and he could feel his voice from where they were pressed together. “As in, I want to be in a relationship with you, spoil you on your birthday, go on dates with you and _be with you.”_

No one had ever said those words to him and meant them.

He hugged Ven’fir tighter, feeling raw and mentally exhausted.

He wanted that too.

He wanted it more than anything.

“We can’t.” Malavai whispered, choked. “You’re my boss.”

Ven’fir hummed, and Malavai felt it.

“We'll work something out.” He assured, sure.

Malavai forced himself to bite down the argument, and trust him.

They could deal with it when they were both thinking clearly.

Ven’fir got closer, curling into his arms as much as Malavai leaned into his.

It was quiet, only the muffled office background noise and the sounds of their breathing broke the silence.

“Come back to mine tonight?” he offered, drawing from some hitherto unknown reserve of confidence before it evaporated. “We can talk about it.”

Ven’fir smiled, and pulled back from the hug. He looked soft and immeasurably more intimate than the mogul behind the desk.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Malavai's cheek, lingering and sweet.

“I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Malavai's snooty, fussy cat are cute, and OF COURSE even Ven's soul is extra.
> 
> \----
> 
> There are SO many world-building head-canons I have about this AU, and it was really tempting to just go crazy with them.
> 
> Do people make snap judgements about a person based on their daemon?
> 
> Are there groups calling for more diversity of reptiles/arachnids/insects/'creepy types' in the workplace?
> 
> Are there instances of confused consent issues because 'it looked like their daemon was really into mine so I thought it was okay'?
> 
> Is there a pseudo-science thing going on regarding when your daemon settled, what colour it is, etc?
> 
> Is there a us/them divide between predator-daemon and prey-daemon people?  
> Can daemons change based on transformative life experiences?
> 
> Are there some people whose daemons never settle on a form?
> 
> What effects do mental illnesses have on daemons?
> 
> What if your daemon was like... a worm? Do you like eating dirt?
> 
> Ugh, I could go on FOREVER.


	12. Dark Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the eleventh hour, the Emperor recieves a visitor.

Satele Shan never thought she would set foot on Dromund Kaas as anything but an invader.

  
Her knees ached as the taxi shuttle set down on the private pad, the driving rain outside causing a droning rumble to reach her ears.

  
The pilot, a young nautolan in an immaculate uniform, nodded respectfully to her, her eyes blank and cool.

  
The engines span down, and the lights over the door blinked green as the gullwing door opened.

  
Fresh air met her nose, and it smelled like rain and earth, a hint of ozone hitting the back of her throat.

  
With less grace than she used to possess, she exited the shuttle. Two people were there to meet her, standing just under a clear awning that protected them from the rain.

  
With a heavy heart, she walked towards them. She was only in the rain for a few seconds, but the chill sent a shiver down her spine.

  
Lana Beniko gave her a short, respectful bow. To Satele, it was the cold respect of one warrior to another.

  
Her son gave a small, reserved smile.

  
Theron looked... good.

  
She wasn’t sure what she had expected when her request had been approved, but it hadn’t been for her son to have been the one to do so.

  
There was grey in his hair now, and lines on his face.

He seemed older in his eyes too, a kind of grim solidness that she wasn’t sure if she liked.

  
“General Shan.” Beniko greeted, her blonde hair up in a severe bun behind her head, silver encroaching on the blonde enough to make it icy. Satele could barely remember a time when her own hair hadn’t been white, now.

  
“Councillor Beniko.” She greeted, before turning her eyes on Theron.

  
“Minister Shan.”

  
He gave her a smile, and it was the kind of smile that she would have preferred he didn’t give. She would rather he scowled at her instead, treated her like the enemy she would once have been.

  
Instead, that smile was pleased and distant as he stood there in his suit, neat and tidy and wearing the ring on his finger like it belonged there.

  
That was an imperial tradition.

  
She hadn’t even known he was married. She smoothed out the hurt like wrinkles in her clothes.  
Beniko gave a small smile.

  
“He's waiting for you.” She murmured.

  
Theron nodded, his shoulders relaxing a little.

  
“You're doing the right thing.” He assured, smiling.

  
“I know.” She replied flatly, wanting nothing more than to wake up. “I wish it were not so.”

  
Theron looked taken aback, and it suited his face more than the wary politeness.

  
Beniko pretended not to have heard her.

  
“We will escort you.” She informed her, gesturing for her to fall into step with them.

  
Satele glanced back at the shuttle and past it, to the shining silver skyscrapers of Kaas City.

  
The sky was bruise purple and the jungle shadowy and dense. The occasional splash of bioluminescence gave it more depth than the formless mass it first appeared to be.

  
The city was busy.

  
From the windows of the taxi shuttle, she had seen the neon signs advertising everything from Rattataki noodles to the latest holodrama. She spotted little smudges of people moving around beneath her, going about their daily lives as though they weren’t living in the Empire.

  
They led her towards the imposing building at the end of the awning, and she noted the absence of people.

  
“Keeping me secret?” she asked, and Theron shook his head.

  
“No. We didn’t want to make a spectacle of things.” He admitted, a little awkward.

  
“’We’?” she repeated, and watched him frown, his face hardening.

  
“Yes, _we_.” He said firmly, and she swore she could feel him slipping away as a physical feeling.

  
If the landing pad was deserted, the inside of the three spired building was a hive of activity.

  
Imperials in their immaculate grey uniforms and shiny boots hurried about their business, the occasional civilian in a smart suit passing her by.

  
She spotted what she now knew to be the Vindicators, their dark armour and lightsabers giving them away.

  
They were a product of the new Imperial Alliance, one that she never felt she could have forseen.

  
Sith in the military, serving alongside their Imperial counterparts.

  
It was a baffling concept.

  
They wore uniforms, held rank and trained with their Force blind peers, and Satele could still remember when she first heard report of them on the battlefield.

  
It had been close to the beginning, back when they were still half blind and flailing in the dark for answers about what exactly had happened behind the closed doors of the Empire.

  
Squads of Sith in black battle armour, moving like a unit rather than a pack of feral animals. Those same armoured Sith aiding their Imperial comrades, like the Jedi did.

  
A Chiss in the armour of a Vindicator saluted as he stood in front of a mountain-like Cathar with the bars of a Colonel.

  
She was being led through what appeared to be an administrative building, with offices and conference rooms sprouting off the hallway like shoots off a branch.

  
Everything was shades of grey, white or red, with the occasional green or purple from a potted plant or decorative fern.

  
Several people of varying species walked by, explaining something to a human who looked impressed by whatever they were saying. Satele couldn’t catch their words before they were gone.

  
Several people glanced at her, but none lingered.

  
She supposed that they had already been briefed on the situation.

  
The situation.

  
It was the Jedi way not to be ruled by emotion, but describing this as a situation felt bitter on her tongue.

  
A customs dispute at the spaceport was a situation.

  
A padawan dropping a boulder on his friends’ foot, that was a _situation_.

  
She swallowed down the feelings the bubbled up from her belly.

  
Control.

  
Only control.

  
They led her to a turbolift, and it seemed to go on forever.

  
She could feel what lurked at the top.

  
First it was faint, like a muggy day. The strange pressure of something pressing down on her, making the air thick to breathe.

  
Floors passed her by, and she wondered, not for the first time, what she was doing here.

  
How could things have changed so much?

  
She recalled padawans playing in the streams around the Temple, and how the Knights would smile in that way they did when they came home.

  
She remembered the smell of fresh grass and air, faint and vague now like a memory of a holovid she once saw.

  
She felt so tired these days.

  
Theron glanced at her, noting how her shoulders were tense and her whole body fought the feeling that grew stronger with every floor.

  
“It’s alright.” He murmured, and his tentative smile told her he probably thought he was being kind. “I- I know it’s not what you want but... you couldn’t have fought forever.”

  
He sounded like he was consoling her.

  
“This is for the best.” He assured, and she felt sick.

  
“For you, perhaps.” She said simply, and he frowned. He looked hurt.

  
“For _everyone_.” He stressed. “Don’t you want the war to be over?” 

  
Something was accusing, there.

  
She turned her attention to him, looking at her son.

  
Her _son_.

  
He was a stranger.

  
He had been walking next to her for years, feet treading a different path but always leading to the same destination.

  
When had he strayed off into the forest? Had it been sudden, or had he drifted away while she was preoccupied with other things?

  
She didn’t know this man, with the silver in his hair and the imperial ring on his finger.

  
He saw something in her eyes that made him draw back, eyes wide.

  
He swallowed deeply, and she noted how his hands clenched and unclenched at his side.

  
Beniko watched them with dispassion.

  
“The Emperor has asked for your meeting to be private, General.” She said, watching Satele with those corrupted Sith eyes.

  
The Emperor.

  
“I can only abide.” She murmured, wondering when she had got so worn down.

  
Her knees ached and her fingers didn’t do what she told them to all the time. She lost her breath earlier now, and she felt cold.

  
Beniko studied her for a moment.

  
“You can.” She agreed.

  
“You trust me alone with him?” she asked, curious. They hadn’t even made to take her weapon.

  
Beniko gave a small smile, and it held no humour.

  
“I don’t trust you at all.” She admitted candidly, “But I’m sure he can handle you if he needs to. We will be just outside the door.”

  
There was inherent threat in the way her eyes bored into Satele’s own, the way her shoulders were set and her presence in the Force was more solid than probing.

  
Satele was still strong in the Force, that had never waned, but she was an old woman now. Her hair was white and her knuckles sore and the wrinkles on her face sagged and pulled her expressions into grimaces.

  
She half expected Theron to say something, but he simply set his jaw and stayed quiet.

  
The numbers ticked up.

  
The feeling of pressure increased.

  
That power.

  
It was heavy, and so dense she could feel it like a physical weight.

  
It was intense too, roiling and burning and churning like the heart of a star.

  
The lift slowed, and the doors opened with a barely-there sound.

  
A small waiting room met her, and Beniko led her into it. 

  
Double doors were closed, but she could well guess where they led.

  
Theron looked conflicted.

  
“Please,” he murmured, “Don’t. Whatever it is you think you’re going to do, _don’t_.”

  
He assumed she was here to cause harm.

  
That she was an assassin.

  
The idea sat with her like oil and water.

  
Was that the kind of person her son thought she was?

  
One look at his faintly pleading expression gave no doubt.

  
She nodded to Beniko, pretending she couldn’t see Theron’s face crumple.

  
The Sith touched a panel on the wall and the doors slid open.

  
It was dark inside, shapes visible in the gloom. There was a light on somewhere inside, faint and obscured.

  
She stepped in, and felt the doors close behind her.

  
Suddenly, she felt so very alone.

  
She took a step forward.

  
Another one, and then another.

  
She was in a debate hall of some kind, imposing chairs arranged in a circle around a forum floor.

  
The chairs were empty, and the place felt still and silent.

  
A single light was lit at the side of the chair in the middle, and she saw a figure sitting in it, head bowed.

  
They were looking at something on their hand.

  
She swallowed and walked forward again.

  
Had she been here on a mission, would she have felt such trepidation?

  
Probably not.

  
It was the feeling of being in such a momentous moment, such a precipice or change.

  
The heat of battle didn’t lend itself to assessing these feelings, but Satele wasn’t in battle right now.

  
No, this felt quite different.

  
Like walking towards the edge of a cliff with every intention of jumping.

  
She walked down the steps to the debate floor, her cane clicking on the polished stone, and realised where she was. 

  
This was the hall of the Imperial Council.

  
“Satele Shan.”

  
She paused, the voice washing against her ears with a tangible wash of the Force behind it. It wasn’t doing anything, just a small surge of power that crashed against her like a wave.

  
“Emperor.” She greeted steadily.

  
The man in the chair looked up and smiled.

  
It had been a long time since she had last seen him in person.

  
The jungles of Yavin hadn’t been the best time to meet someone, but the Mirialan in the Sith armour had been a hard figure to forget. Then later, in the wilderness of Odessen when he was hurting and alone.

  
She recalled an intense, energetic soul, aggressive and roguish and quick to smile.

  
Strong in the Force.

  
Frighteningly so.

  
At the time, she had wondered how he would fare against her battlemaster.

  
She supposed she knew the answer to that question now.

  
He was older now, as they all were. By the look of him, he must have been approaching his fifties, his dark hair shot through with silver.

  
His skin was sickly, the flesh blackened around his eyes, which burned crimson in their sockets.

  
An old scar crossed his nose, just missing one eye and carrying on over the bridge of his nose to his cheek. His tattoos were stark against his skin.

  
He sat on the imposing chair at the centre of the circle, lounging in it like a cat.

  
His eyes followed her every movement.

  
Eddies of Force power brushed against her senses, adding to what was suffocating her slowly by the intensity of his presence.

  
“You can call me Ven’fir.” He said, still smiling.

  
It was a brittle thing, and she wondered how much of himself he had kept.

  
“I’m not here for pleasantries.” She said simply, attempting to regain the control she wasn’t sure she had ever had.

  
He shook his head, dark curls brushing his collar.

  
“No, I don’t imagine you are.” He murmured. He stood, uncurling himself out of his throne like an insect from its cocoon. His armour was black and practical, an equally dark robe thrown over the top. It made his form indistinguishable, hiding most of himself. He stayed at the top of the steps, regarding her from above.

  
“What are you here for then, General Satele Shan?”

  
She swallowed.

  
Before this moment, she had thought she had known.

  
She had a choice, one that was impossible to make.

  
“I don’t know.”

  
Her own voice sounded like paper.

  
He nodded kindly, like he didn’t fault her for her temptation to kill him.

  
“Fair enough.” He said with a smile, although those crimson eyes were fixed on her. She had seen many a Sith in her lifetime, and the eyes always unnerved her the most.

  
His were lambent in the gloom, unnatural irises contrasting against the blackened skin around his eyes.

  
“While you think, is there anything that you would like to ask me?” he offered gently, his manner more like a kindly teacher than a tyrant.

  
She watched him, taking him in.

  
Emperor.

  
Commander.

  
Darth Venator.

  
Emperor’s Wrath.

  
Lord Polaris.

  
Ven’fir.

  
The words died in her throat.

  
His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled.

  
“No? Let me ask you something, then.”

  
He tilted his head, lowering his gaze demurely before glancing back up.

  
“Do you remember the 29th day of the third month, twenty-four ATC? It was a Primeday, I believe.”

  
Satele frowned at the strange question.

  
She wasn’t foolish enough to believe the Sith was simply asking for amusement. They were fickle and capricious creatures, but the powerful ones were shrewd and calculating.

  
And this Sith was powerful indeed.

  
She racked her mind, attempting to remember.

  
It would have been after the debacle on Iokath, she was sure.

  
“I’ll help you.” He said lowly, cutting her train of thought off. “The 29th day of the third month, twenty-four ATC was the day that the Republic declared war on me.”

  
That was a surprise.

  
The declaration of war had come much later, after the new Empire had begun its campaign in earnest.  
Crimson eyes burned.

  
“Oh, I have no doubt they didn’t know what they were doing.” He breathed, and she felt her nerves send warning messages to her brain. “They just thought they were taking advantage of a moment of weakness.”

  
He paused, lowering his gaze. Inside his sleeves, he fiddled with something she couldn’t see.

  
“The 29th day of the third month, twenty-four ATC was when a Republic agent showed herself on Odessen.” He said, and his tone was turning hollow.

“We had lost the Eternal Fleet after allying with the Empire. I suppose the Senate saw an opportunity.”

  
He closed his eyes, and she felt his emotion roll over her.

  
It was thick and crushing, and she almost lost her breath.

  
“I was the target. She was just one of the guards, but she came at me while we were coming back from the cantina.”

  
Satele didn’t want to hear any more.

  
He frowned minutely, opening his eyes and glancing her way. He looked almost puzzled, like he was still trying to understand what happened.

  
“I didn’t see her. I _should_ have seen her.”

  
His frown deepened.

  
“She would have stabbed me. I would have died; I have no doubt about that.” He paused, looking off into some alternate future only he could see.

Something about him seemed cracked and unstable.

“Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if I had.”

His eyes met hers again, and the emotion rolled over her again, dragging her along like she was on the bottom of the ocean, at the mercy of the current.

  
“Instead, my husband pushed me out of the way.” He whispered, a small, fond smile on his face. He looked almost fragile. “Her blade hit his lung. I held him as he died.”

  
Satele breathed in painfully, and the Sith in front of her took a shuddering breath.

  
“He’s gone, and he’s never coming back.”

  
The grief was suffocating.

  
“I’ll never see him smile again or hear his voice.” He whispered, choked. “I’ll never argue with him over my eating habits or hold him as he sleeps because he hates it when he’s cold. I’ll never listen to him talk to himself when he’s working, and I’ll never hold him close. I’ll never tease him about going grey, and he’ll never tell me he loves me. He’ll never kiss me in that way he does, like he’s still shy.”

  
He stopped, and the weight in her chest was almost too great to ignore.

  
The power in the room was laced with a cocktail of grief and sadness and bone deep sorrow.

  
There was no fury, no explosive anger, no maelstrom of hate.

  
This darkness was softer, more suffocating and insidious.

  
She felt something shift and suddenly he was in front of her, crimson eyes trailing tears down his sickly cheeks.

  
She wanted to run and she wanted to stay, but instead she simply stood there.

  
“He meant everything to me.” He breathed, and he was close enough to see how his tears beaded his eyelashes.

  
“I lost him once, and then I got him back.” Something horrible and broken flickered over his face, some fond memory tainted with poison. “Then I kissed him as he died, and I held him as he went cold.”

  
He breathed his words, tears shining on his cheeks.  
Something hung at his neck, shining a dull silver under his clothing.

  
Dog tags.

  
She didn’t need to ask whose.

  
“So, it’s revenge?” she asked, her voice so quiet she barely recognised it as hers. 

  
He shook his head.

  
“We always said we would remake the Empire.” He murmured. “Together.”

  
He smiled, sad and bleak and unstable.

  
“He would have done it better than me,” he said with a self-depreciating chuckle. “He would have had the galaxy at his feet in a year, I’m sure of it.”

  
He breathed out, slow and hitched.

  
“The Empire was our home. We knew it was broken. We wanted to remake it better. I think I’ve done that, at least.” He breathed, glancing to Satele. “I never wanted to Republic destroyed. I just want this to end. That’s all I ever wanted.”

  
He swallowed, and it looked like it pained him.

  
“Tell me, do the Jedi truly not love?” he asked, voice quiet. “Do they not care about people the way everyone else does? I don’t know if I would give up the time I had with him, even though living without him is like already being dead. Some part of me is gone, do you understand? I can’t feel things anymore. It’s like being under a blanket of sorrow, and it drowns everything else out.”

  
The pressure in the room spiked, and she couldn’t help a pained since as he constricted her chest. She was an old woman, now. She knew that. It hurt.  
Frustration seeped through, fizzing against her senses. The grief never left, a constant background of dull pain.

  
“I just want him back.” He pleaded, and his eyes were intense and held madness in their depths. Unstable and half-mad with sorrow, the Sith balled his fists and aguish settled in her lungs like fluid.

  
“We can’t have them back.” She whispered. “None of us can.”

  
He stared at her, wild eyed and mad, like a child without a lifeline.

  
“I know.”

  
It sounded like it hurt to admit.

  
“But I can give him the Galaxy, like I said I would. Unified and strong under the new Empire. An Empire that we can be proud of.”

  
He steeled himself, setting his jaw and pinning her with his gaze.

  
“So, General Satele Shan of the Republic Resistance, what are you here to do?”

  
Satele was on that precipice again, and this time the storm battered her each way.

  
She swallowed hard, tired and sore.

  
She brushed white hair from her brow.

  
Where had the time gone?

  
The Republic was all but beaten, hanging on by a thread. Coruscant was withering under blockade.  
The Jedi were a handful of stragglers, clinging to their ideals. They crossed sabers with those who were once their comrades.

  
The Resistance numbered in the hundreds.

  
She remembered when she had first set foot on Tython, when the first padawans settled to learn. When her son was born, when she stepped back from the Galaxy to let a new generation take over, only to be pulled back by desperation of the Republic and the aggression of the Imperial Alliance.

  
The Empire was barely recognisable from the old one.

  
Aliens mingled with humans freely, Sith serving the great wheel of the Empire as fervently as their force-blind counterparts did. An Emperor on this throne, surrounded by a Council made up of the greatest minds the Empire could produce, Sith and non-Sith.

Jedi left over from the Alliance found their place, so long as their code did not impact on their duty of service.

  
She focused on the man in front of her, the Emperor in his empty council hall, alone with his grief and his hurt.

  
His corruption bled sorrow, rather than rage.

  
He regarded her right back, the young Sith she had once put all her hope in now standing as the tyrant of a nation that loved him.

  
He looked so worn.

  
The despair was palpable, and it hung in the air and saturated every breath, seeping into her mind and heart with slimy fingers.

  
She swallowed hard. 

  
Satele was _tired_.

  
“I am here to negotiate the surrender of the Galactic Republic.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like rage would burn bright but quick for Ven’fir, and his true Fall would come from despair.
> 
> He has achieved everything he could ever hope to, but he would give it all up to have his partner by his side.
> 
> Satele never wanted to come back. She's tired. She's old. She's done with war.
> 
> But they dragged her back with desperation and hope, and she couldn't say no. General Shan of the Republic Resistance stepped up to save the dream of the Republic, pitting herself against the Imperial Alliance and its Emperor, the former Commander.
> 
> Some people muttered darkly about the Empire sumsuming the Alliance, but in reality it was more the other way around.
> 
> Alliance values snuck in to fill the cracks in Imperial tradition, and to quietly chip away at the foundations of betrayal and inequality.
> 
> Most of the most outspoken or violent detractors of the new ways found themselves quietly ruined, or fell on the battlefield.
> 
> Soon, prosperity and victory brought in a new era for the Empire, the Emperor sitting on the throne, steeped in his despair.


	13. Fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ven’fir, a sorcerer, tries to woo his party cleric.

Ven’fir was bored.

He was the kind of bored that led to bad decisions and embarrassment.

He had run out of entertainment around midday, and he was now suffering from late stage restlessness.

Flicking sparks at pompous looking passers-by had been funny for a little while, but he had stopped after a hat had turned out to be more flammable than anticipated.

He could draw Nox into conversation again, but the warlock was nose deep in a tome that looked to be bound in real dragon leather, which made Ven’fir's dragon blood shiver.

He didn’t like that.

Not at all.

Besides, Nox was a vicious bastard and Ven’fir didn’t feel like finding Malavai to get his warlock induced wounds healed again.

Ah, Malavai.

He glanced over to the shop front where their cleric was finishing his purchase of more salves.

Ven’fir probably wouldn’t guess his vocation from his looks alone, considering he shied away from the flowing robe and had gone with something a little sturdier.

Hmm, he looked good in leather.

Still, that bastard sword that hung from his belt was a wicked thing, immaculately maintained and the end of many a bandit or beast.

“I’m going to need every researcher in the college of wizards on the case of figuring out what the _fuck_ your problem is.”

Ven’fir blinked, plastering on a roguish smile to cover what had probably been a smitten expression.

Beryon V'lante stared down at him, expression intense.

“Stop _staring_ at him.”

The monk was a caustic individual, the blindfold tied around his head to obscure his eyes doing nothing to hinder the feeling of being glared at.

Ven’fir gave him a cheeky grin.

“How can you tell?” he asked, and V'lante's expression darkened.

“I can sense your lechery.” He grunted. “I don’t care, but he _will_ hurt you and I won’t have you hobbling around during the next fight.”

Ven’fir rolled his eyes.

“He won’t, he likes me.” He assured smugly. “Besides, he won’t catch me.”

“I will.” The monk assured. “And then I’ll give you to him.”

Ven’fir laughed.

“I would like to see you try.” He goaded, although he knew all too well how fast the monk was. His Way of the Open Hand style was brutal, and Ven’fir really hoped he never pissed him off enough to warrant it being used on his person in earnest.

Ven’fir was no slouch himself, he wasn’t going to be one of those magic types that fell over from a gust of wind.

Absently, he scratched the obsidian scales that covered the backs of his hands, warm from the midday sun.

The scales had first manifested when he was very young and had grown relentlessly until he hit his late teens. The gem-like glassine black was spread in a thin layer over the backs of his hands and fingers, the tops of his shoulders, the tops of his feet, down his spine and over his collarbones.

Thankfully his face had been spared the scaly encroachment, save for translucent patches of scales at his temples.

They were quite flexible considering their thinness, but it did make finding resilient clothing a challenge.

They were a gift, left over from an obsidian dragon ancestor somewhere in his family tree.

He tapped his fingernails, long, black and curved like dragons’ claws, on his knee.

A young woman walked past with a little girl in tow, and the small child stared at Ven’fir.

He was obviously an adventurer or mercenary considering the armour and weapons, but he suspected that it was his more draconic traits that spurred her interest.

He sent the curious little girl a sharp toothed grin and a wink, chuckling when she clapped her hands in delight, giggling.

Her mother quickly pulled her away, and Ven’fir’s humour faded. He rubbed at amber eyes, mindful of the claws.

Oh well.

His eyes drifted back to their cleric, who was finishing his transaction.

Somewhere to the left, Jediahi was laughing so loud she made people stare, the tabaxi barbarian already quite obvious due to her sheer size.

Their feline companion was not easy to lose, considering one just needed to follow the noise.

Malavai walked over, stowing his purchases in his satchel.

“What is she laughing about?” he asked, casting a suspicious eye over to where Jediahi was now entertaining a gaggle of children by juggling rocks.

Ven’fir shrugged, amused.

“No idea. It really could be anything.”

Malavai watched her for a few moments before shrugging.

“Right. Well, I think Nox has a contact in the local tavern for us to meet, so we can rest there for a night.”

Ven’fir, happy to do anything that wasn’t sitting around on his ass flicking sparks at people in boredom, was quick to agree.

“If they’re short on rooms, you can share with me.” He offered, grinning.

Malavai's nose wrinkled.

“I would rather share with the horses. They smell better.”

Well, that was a little uncalled for.

Ven’fir didn’t _smell._

Something of his indignant thoughts must have shown on his face, because Malavai smirked.

Spurned yet not dissuaded, Ven’fir stood and stretched, feeling his shoulders strain after sitting still for a while.

“Come on then,” He smiled, “I’m dying for a drink.”

The tavern was a standard affair, all scrubbed tables and a low fire, the air smelling like hops and smoke.

People were inside even at this hour, either getting food or drinking.

Adventurers were hardly uncommon in this part of the world, but their motley crew drew a few stares as the headed for a table.

Ven’fir stood out for his very obvious bloodline, his scales catching the firelight like oil and water.

Jediahi was a sight to see for her sheer size, her furs and beads not hiding her bulging muscles and the war paint that matted her tawny fur. The twin axes on her back were a potent reminder not to take the jovial bardbarian for anything less than a one-woman wrecking crew.

V'lante walked like he was a soldier in a column, stiff and orderly. His expression gave the aura of someone that was not to be fucked with under any circumstances whatsoever, which Ven’fir could readily attest to being accurate.

The monk was not the ‘kindly pacifist’ kind.

Nox tended to slink rather than stride, the warlock swathed in dark robes and a hood that covered most of his face, hiding milky, blind eyes. His voice was a hoarse whisper and his smile, if he ever showed it, was cruel and warped as a consequence of his pact with Khirad, the Star of Secrets.

Bone charms and beads hung from his belt and his wrists, pouches and boxy pockets attached to his belt filled with all manner of probably unnerving ingredients.

He leaned on a staff as he walked, the gnarled wood smooth from years of use, the grip worn comfortable from handling. More bones, feathers and small stones adored the top, giving it the look of something a shaman or tribal mage would use.

Ven’fir often likened him to a forest witch or sinister mystic but would never say that to the man himself. He had no wish to meet Khirad personally.

Bringing up the rear, Malavai looked quite normal and out of place. The cleric had no particular physical irregularities, nor did he exude barely restrained menace like Nox did.

His weapon, the favoured of his god, sat innocuously at his hip.

He seemed to just be a man in the company of some very strange people.

He trailed behind them as Jediahi made a beeline for the bar, the poor young woman behind the counter looking equal parts fascinated and terrified of the woman approaching her.

Ven’fir slipped into a seat closest to the fire, feeling the pleasing warmth seep into his skin. Despite Malavai's snappish tendencies and their propensity for somewhat mean-spirited banter, he settled next to Ven’fir with a sigh.

“Tired?” Ven’fir asked, sympathetic. Malavai was an adept healer, but even he tired after patching them up after a big fight.

The human gave him a small smile, storm blue eyes soft and tired.

“Yes. You seem as bouncy as ever, though.” He observed, and Ven’fir grinned.

“I never run out of energy.” He chuckled, shifting closer and wiggling his eyebrows.

“I could show you, if you like?” he purred, and watched in delight as the cleric’s cheeks flushed pink.

“By Kelemvor, you're a cad.” He grumbled, red faced and averting his eyes.

Ven’fir laughed, warmth blooming in his belly. “Yeah, but I’m _your_ cad.” He winked, fond.

Malavai just flushed a deeper pink and stayed quiet.

“I could help you ease some of that tension by getting my hand down your-"

“Enough!” the poor cleric turned on him, cheeks aflame and magic flickering around his fingers. It was the sickly blue green of Gravelight, and it did interesting things to his pale skin.

With a huff, he extinguished the magic, throwing Ven’fir a nasty look.

“I will send you to Kelemvor, I swear it.” The cleric grumbled, folding his arms.

The sorcerer grinned.

“You're tempted to say yes.” He wheedled. “I know you are.”

Oh, that was a nice look on his usually austere face.

Malavai was the oldest of their little ragtag group, Nox coming next at several years his junior.

He was taciturn and particular, fussy in his mannerisms and dedication to his chosen deity, the god of death. Kelemvor wasn’t a malicious deity by any means, he was harsh but fair, dedicated to the absolute rule of natural law. As his priest, Malavai was a formidable healer and hunter of the undead that perverted that law.

Still, despite his prickly exterior and their past squabbles, Ven’fir liked him.

There was something very tired about him, and despite his teasing, Ven’fir really did want to soothe that clever mind, to distract him from his duty if only for a little while.

Malavai didn’t answer the question, embarrassed and shy.

That was _cute_.

His eyes caught a dark shape heading for a shadowy table at the back, and he watched the perennially creepy Nox head for who Ven’fir assumed was his contact. They were tracking a Baron's son who had gone missing, although it was seeming more and more obvious that the lad had actually run away and fallen in with some unsavoury characters.

It didn’t matter to him.

It was strange, how Nox managed to get anyone to talk to him, considering he looked like a nightmare.

Anyone with a vague understanding of the arcane and its many areas would understand the signs of someone who was sworn to Khirad, the Star of Secrets.

His voice cursed to speak no louder than a whisper and his smile cursed to appear cruel and unnerving, Ven’fir personally thought that any bargain with an entity like that was something he would never consider.

Still, Nox seemed more than able to handle whatever he was mixed up in, and his powers were formidable.

He brushed past other patrons like a breeze and they shivered as he passed, those glancing at him soon turning pale and quickly looking away.

Ven’fir let him get on with whatever creepy, shady business he was up to.

V’lante had seemingly not bothered to stay with them, and Ven’fir assumed he had gone to find somewhere quieter.

Jediahi ambled over, plonked two drinks on their table with a grin and a wink, and headed off to listen to the tavern bard, leaving them quite alone at their table.

Ven’fir lifted his flagon to his lips, took a long drink, and raised his eyebrows.

“That is _good.”_ He grinned, nudging Malavai out of his red cheeked awkwardness. “C’mon, have a drink with me.”

The cleric gave him a look but acquiesced anyway.

A thing Ven’fir had learned about Malavai was that, despite his tendency for snapping or being pedantic, he tended to give in quite easily, at least to Ven’fir. He was caustic and waspish but did as he was asked with little fight.

Ven’fir wasn’t sure why, but he made a conscious effort not to abuse that knowledge.

One drink turned into two.

Two turned into four.

Malavai couldn’t hold his drink as well as Ven’fir could and was quite drunk by the time Ven’fir noticed the growing pile of empty flagons at their table.

It took a lot to get the sorcerer truly wasted, since he had been drinking for a long time, and something in his draconic heritage made it difficult.

Still, considering he had drunk two for every one of Malavai's, he was more than on his way to sloshed.

He had the human laughing, a feat even his pickled brain could well appreciate.

Malavai was unsteady and flushed, listing to one side to lean against Ven’fir’s shoulder.

He was smiling, his pupils blown wide with alcohol and amusement, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening as he laughed.

Ven’fir was absolutely smitten with him, and his drunken brain wanted nothing more than to pull him into his lap and kiss him.

He couldn’t even remember what it was he had said to garner such amusement, but whatever it was, it worked.

“You have such a nice smile.” He managed, his words slow and enunciated as he tried not to slur.

Malavai's cheeks were already cherry red, but Ven’fir was sure he would have flushed anyway.

The cleric gave him a look, his blue eyes dark under his lashes.

“Don't try and- and _charm me._ ” He warned, sounding much less threatening than he usually did because of his slur. “I’m onto you.”

“I _wish_ you'd get onto me.” Ven’fir muttered, unable to stop himself.

Malavai moved closer, his expression difficult to read and pressing into Ven’fir’s side. The creak of his leathers was distracting, almost as much as his closeness.

Ven’fir could count his eyelashes if he wanted.

Faint freckles covered the bridge of his nose and his cheeks, almost unnoticeable on his pale skin until he was this close. Ven’fir, whose own complexion was much darker and not prone to freckles, was fascinated.

Without warning, the cleric smiled widely and leaned in to press a messy kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Completely taken by surprise, Ven’fir reflexively brought up a hand to steady the wobbly cleric as he pulled away again, smiling unsteadily.

“You-"

Whatever Malavai had been about to say was interrupted by a loud, irritated tut.

“You two are fucking _drunk_.”

V’lante was standing in front of their table, arms folded and looking supremely unimpressed.

“Uh, a little?” Ven’fir offered, smiling in what he hoped what a charming, innocent manner.

V’lante’s lip curled.

“How much did you give him?” he demanded, jerking his head towards their cleric, who was now falling asleep against Ven’fir’s shoulder.

It was extremely cute, and Ven was fighting not to make an embarrassing noise at how cute it was.

“I didn’t give him anything,” he protested. “He drank them himself!”

Well, Ven had bought him one every time his flagon had gone dry, so perhaps that was what their monk meant?

He wasn’t sure.

Everything felt very fuzzy right now.

Fuzzy, and fun.

He grinned, and V’lante looked disgusted with him.

“Well, it’s a good job we’re staying here for the night.” He muttered. “Because we’ve also lost Jediahi.”

Ven’fir, blinking, looked around. Sure enough, their bardbarian had got up to join the tavern bard and the two were now singing a bawdy duet with flagons in their hands.

Oh.

“Sleep. It. Off.” The monk snarled, fuming. “ _Both_ of you.”

With a sloppy salute that V’lante looked physically pained by, Ven’fir wrapped an arm around their drunken cleric.

The poor man was close to being asleep, so Ven’fir had to haul him up with one arm around his shoulder to keep him from falling over.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have given him so many drinks.

Still, they had been having such a good time!

He sighed, his vision moving a little too much as he made his way to the bar.

“Room please?” he asked with a winning smile, and the barkeeper gave him a _look_.

“Four is free. Eight silver pieces.” She looked over at Malavai, who was curled very closely into his side. “Is he going to be alright?” she asked curiously, and Ven grinned.

“Yeah, the old man has just fallen asleep.” he winked. “He’ll fix himself up in the morning.”

She shrugged and handed him a battered key.

With a grin, he accepted it and began to arduous job of getting their comatose cleric up the stairs.

“You’re a heavy as a troll,” he grunted, his head swimming as he climbed the stairs.

“Shuddup.” Was all the slurred response he got, and he resisted the urge to laugh.

Laughing now would make him fall over, he was sure of it.

Eventually, he got the door open and with a little less grace than he would like to admit, dumped the cleric on the bed in a heap.

For a moment, Ven’fir just looked at him.

He looked much less harsh when he was dozing, and his drunken mind supplied him with images of sharing a bed with Malavai in a much less platonic way.

What would it be like, he wondered, to wake up next to him? To see the morning light on his skin and see his eyes open slowly as he roused?

To hold him close as he slept, peaceful and warm?

A flutter in his belly made him smile.

With swimming vision and barely enough sense to remove his boots, he flopped on the bed next to the unconscious cleric.

Within moments, he was asleep.

* * *

The morning, Ven’fir recalled, had been awkward.

Not as painful as he had feared, but still full of blushes and awkward stutters and some apologies.

Poor Malavai had been terribly embarrassed.

Ven’fir just wanted to kiss him.

Something had changed since, though, and he liked it.

Malavai smiled at him more, for one. Quick, shy things, but Ven’fir kept them close like they were precious.

He bantered with Ven’fir more now too, trading barbs back and forth with more fondness and less causticity.

Malavai had mixed a salve that make his scales less prone to itches, and in return he enchanted his sword.

They sat together at camp, and Malavai talked more.

Jediahi kept winking at him knowingly.

Ven’fir winked back.

They had been right about the Baron’s son.

Nox’ contact had put them on the trail of a shady cult, and they had soon come upon them in the foothills, worshipping demons and chanting nonsense in the light of a full moon.

Ven’fir didn’t get that kind of stuff.

Why bother?

Anyway, the kid was not only part of the cult, he was an enthusiastic participant. They hid in an old cave and sacrificed animals and the occasional foolish traveller for their dark deity, thinking they were more than a match for any interested parties that might stumble upon them.

What the cultists had _not_ foreseen however, was the arrival of their merry band of wierdos turning up on their proverbial doorstep.

To make a long story short, the cultists were dead to a man, Nox had some new finger bones for his collection, and the kid was dumped with his horrified father.

Now they were in the tavern, celebrating a job well done, and a bounty well paid.

Jediahi had already beaten four other patrons in drinking contests, while Nox and V’lante had made themselves scare the moment she had challenged the entire bar to an arm wrestle.

Malavai and Ven’fir had found a table at the back and were taking it easy with the drink.

They had learned their lesson.

Malavai was pink cheeked and pleased, smiling more than Ven’fir thought he would ever see.

“You’re lovely, you know that?” Ven’fir murmured without meaning to, and Malavai flushed.

“Stop it.” He mumbled, taking a drink to hide his face.

Ven’fir grinned.

“Make me.”

Malavai gave him a look.

“Oh? And how should I do that?” he prompted, his eyes warm and an amused twitch to his lips.

Ven’fir’s grin widened.

“I have a few ideas.”

Testing his luck, he leaned closer and let his hand rest on the cleric’s knee.

Malavai hitched a breath but, to Ven’fir’s surprise and pleasure, didn’t shove him away.

His blue eyes were darkened with drink and something else Ven’fir was hesitant to name as want.

“Like what?” Malavai murmured, swallowing thickly. “You said you had ideas.”

Ven’fir nodded, brushing his thumb over the fabric of the other man’s trousers. “Yeah.” He breathed, getting into his space. He smelled like herbs and spices and soap.

He must have bathed after their journey when they had rented their rooms.

He smiled and leaned into the crook of his neck.

He didn’t kiss the skin there or run his tongue over the vein like he wanted to, but instead just settled there and breathed him in.

He felt Malavai’s tension, his muscles coiled tight and his breathing uneven. He smiled against the skin of his throat.

“I’ve always got ideas.” He murmured. “Especially if they’re about you.”

Malavai’s hands clenched and unclenched where they lay in his lap.

“Will those ideas only last for tonight, or do you have enough to last you?” he asked, tongue darting out to moisten his lips.

Ven’fir knew what he was asking.

Did Ven’fir want him for quick tumble, as a conquest? Or was he actually… interested?

Well, Ven’fir knew the answer to that.

“I’ve enough ideas to last a lifetime,” he assured, dropping his voice to make the man by his side shiver. Some of the tension bled from his shoulders, and he glanced over, his eyes softer than Ven’fir had ever seen them.

“Show me.”

Ven’fir didn’t need telling twice.

Tossing some coins on the table to pay for the drink, his brain was fixed on getting him and Malavai up to one of their rooms as soon as physically possible.

Malavai's hand felt cool in his own, considering the differences in body temperature, but he was squeezing Ven’fir’s hand like he didn’t want to let go.

He caught Jediahi's eye and she winked at him, and he grinned back.

He didn’t even remember getting up the stairs.

Malavai at least had the sense of mind to get his key out and fumble it into the lock on his room before they were falling inside.

The moment the door closed behind them Ven’fir found himself pressed up against it as Malavai pressed his mouth to his.

The kisses were desperate and needy, and Ven’fir found himself drawing the other man closer.

One hand sat on his hip and the other came up to cup his jaw. Rough stubble met his fingertips and he grinned into the kiss as he felt Malavai wind a hand into his hair.

Mindful of his taloned hands, he brushed the pad of a thumb over one prominent cheekbone and felt the other man shiver.

He felt like he was drowning in the most pleasant way possible, completely wrapped up in the heat and hazy desire that was their kisses.

Eventually Malavai pulled back, breathing heard and with his eyes dark from want. His mouth was slick and red, and Ven’fir couldn’t stop staring at him.

The cleric was flushed, pale skin a rosy pink from their closeness.

“I want to see you take your clothes off for me.” He murmured, a little shy and a lot eager.

Ven’fir startled a laugh, delighted. He rested his hands on the other man’s hips, feeling little sparks of something every time Malavai’s fingers brushed his skin as he played with the hem of Ven’fir’s shirt.

“I thought priests were all well-behaved and virtuous.” He teased, grinning.

Malavai pulled him in for another messy, desperate kiss. It was hard and needy and filthy hot, but the way he pressed himself flush to Ven’fir and held him so carefully was nothing short of overwhelming.

“Luckily for you, I’m not that kind of priest.” He breathed, and Ven’fir wasn’t much able to think after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My D&D is rusty and I might have embellished here and there. ;)
> 
> I can't get over how much fun I have writing V'lante no matter the iteration. He's such as ass. :')
> 
> Nox, as ever, is one creepy mofo.


	14. Genderswap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Polaris and her Captain spend some time together.

Malavai liked looking at Ven’fir.

It wasn’t proper, of course, but it was _awfully_ hard not to glance over.

Ven’fir attracted attention like she breathed, and Malavai couldn’t be blamed for being caught up in it, could she?

She _absolutely_ could.

She adjusted her grip on her datapad, wishing she could pretend that the report on it was as interesting as watching the Sith train.

Perspiration made green skin shine like glass, and Malavai could barely keep from staring as the dips and swell of muscle caught the light.

Dark curls were bound up in a bun behind her head, some rogue strands escaping to fall around her face as she stretched.

It didn’t help that she wore only skintight shorts and a sports bra when she worked out, either. It was like she was showing off on purpose.

Which, considering it was _Ven’fir_ , she probably was.

Malavai busied herself with checking the panel to her left, pretending that the black screen next to it didn’t offer a truly sinful reflection of her commander.

Long, muscular legs leading to shapely thighs and those _hips_ …

She forced herself to stare at the readouts, trying to get so interested in atmospheric readouts that she forgot about being a desperate mess.

She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, hoping Ven’fir couldn’t sense her crisis through the Force.

Honestly, it was a terrible thing for her libido, having a woman like Ven’fir so close.

The Sith was arrogant and spoiled, playful and confident, kind and funny.

She was also completely _shameless_.

“Having fun, Captain?”

Malavai jumped, her heart thudding against her chest as a prickle spread over her skin. She turned, cursing the blush that showed on her pale skin.

Ven’fir was there, looking positively predatory under the bright lights of the training room. It was very early in the morning, and was empty save for them.

“Just checking the logs.” She assured, hoping her voice was level.

Ven’fir’s grin widened, showing those sharp teeth.

“Of _course_.” She purred, her tone making it obvious that she didn’t buy it. “Want to help me train, Captain? You can spot me.”

Her words were punctuated with an elevator stare, dragging her eyes over the Captain, who swore she could feel it like a physical sensation. The feeling started at her boots and travelled up her legs before appreciatively dragging itself up past her waist and over her chest, pausing like a tingle at her mouth and finally meeting her eyes.

She shivered, feeling warm.

The Sith tilted her head, her full mouth curving into a tease of a smile as she raised a hand to brush a stray strand of dark hair behind her Captain’s ear.

The action was gentle and whisper soft, and it sent prickles down Malavai’s spine. Her skin felt hypersensitive, and she was suddenly aware of how her clothes sat against her skin, and how her hair tickled on her temples.

“You’re so cute when you blush, Captain.” Ven’fir murmured, her amber eyes bright.

She was a tall woman, muscular and solid and so very _warm_.

A stray thought flitted, unbidden, through Malavai’s mind.

She really wanted to have her head between those heavily muscled thighs.

Furiously attempting to backpedal and shove that _very_ distracting thought aside, she clutched her data pad harder. She felt the plastic creak.

“Sir.” She managed, cursing herself. She was in control. She _was._

It should take more than a beautiful woman to break her discipline.

Except the Sith wasn’t just a beautiful woman.

She was far, far more than that.

Ven’fir laughed softly, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the Captain’s burning cheek, catching the corner of her mouth.

She lingered there for a few seconds before pulling away and stepping back, out of the Captain’s space.

It was like breathing air for the first time, even as her heart thudded in her chest and heat bloomed in her belly.

“Have dinner with me later.”

She blinked, still coming back online.

She had a brain designed to rival most supercomputers, but this Sith flustered her so much she could barely think?

She bet the Science Bureau would be horrified at their failure.

“We have dinner together every day.” She pointed out, still tense. The way Ven’fir was looking at her, all soft and amazed, was off putting.

The Sith tossed her head, sending a bounce of stray curls over her shoulder where they were tied back.

“We eat with the crew every day,” she argued. “But I want to have dinner with _you_. _Only_ you.”

“I- oh.” Well, there wasn’t much else she could interpret _that_ as.

She swallowed, awkward.

Stars, she hated being so off-kilter.

“Well, it’s not really encouraged under the current regulations-“

“Let me worry about that.” Ven’fir soothed, her smile softer now. “You interest me, Captain. You’re sweet and I like your company.”

Malavai had never been called ‘sweet’ before.

Ice-cold, stuck up, unavailable, boring, stuffy.

Those, she had heard often.

No one had ever looked at her like Ven’fir was looking at her now.

She swallowed.

“Alright.” She murmured, surprising herself. “I- Okay.”

The Sith was positively beaming, her amber eyes bright and her whole posture shouting how pleased she was.

“We’re due on Dromund Kaas in two days. I’ll get us a table somewhere nice.” She assured, and her energy was infectious.

Malavai hesitated a nod, even as her belly fluttered enough to make her smile.

* * *

Malavai was nervous.

Well, she often was, but this kind of nervousness was different.

It was mixed with excitement and no little amount of hope, and that was a heady mix that she found difficult to compartmentalize.

She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to _do._

Since she and Lady Polaris had mutually decided to give whatever was between them a proper _go,_ Malavai had been teetering on the edge of elation and anxiety.

She looked at herself in the mirror.

A pale woman looked back, boring, plain and uptight. She liked to keep herself looking neat and tidy, but her version of presentable was suitable for briefings and parade rest, not Kaasian restaurants where desserts cost more than she earned in a month.

Attempting to crush the anxiety in her belly, she neatened up her makeup, having had to buy some earlier to save her needing to borrow any.

She didn’t look _terrible_ , but she felt the powder on her skin and how her lips were slick with lipstick. She liked how the eyeliner made her eyes look, and how the blush gave her some colour.

That was nice.

She had briefly entertained the idea of a dress but had instead chosen a blouse and smart trousers. She felt desperately uncomfortable in a dress, the fluttery material and swish of the fabric was a million lightyears away from her well-worn uniform, crisp and neat. She smoothed down the front of her blouse, the soft, floppy bow of fabric at her throat giving it a softer shape than she was used to.

At least it had long sleeves, and she could wear boots with the trousers.

That was good. Lots of women didn’t wear dresses. Many men _did_. It was _fine_.

She looked at herself again, stepping back to observe her reflection from top to bottom.

She looked... good. Nice.

Classy, she hoped.

Ven’fir was probably going to draw every eye anyway, so she wasn’t sure why she bothered with all the effort.

Well, that wasn’t true. She _did_ know.

She didn’t want to _embarrass_ Ven’fir. She wanted to look as though she at least deserved to be on a Sith’s arm.

She sighed, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes.

There wasn’t much she could do with her hair, considering she kept it short, but she had tried to leave it less gelled than she usually did.

Sucking up her feelings into a ball and kicking them under the metaphorical sofa, she headed for the door to the room she was staying in, grabbing her gloves and coat as she did so. Ven’fir’s apartment was gorgeous and fashionable, much like the woman herself.

Malavai settled on one of the low sofas to watch the rain and wait for her date to be ready.

Her _date_.

She hadn’t been on a proper date in years.

Oh, she’d had a tumble here and there when the mood took her, but she could count the number of those in the last decade on one hand.

Nerves bubbled in her belly, sending little waves of sickness towards her throat.

This was sudden.

It was public.

It was _very_ public.

She wrung her gloves in her hands, feeling the give of the soft, worn leather.

A door opened, and she looked up.

She was aware her mouth was open, but thoughts were hard to come by right then.

Ven’fir was heading towards her, and Malavai could only stare.

The Sith had always been a tall woman, but the heels she wore pushed her height to intimidating proportions.

Her cocktail dress was a pretty thing, hugging her athletic frame and highlighting her broad shoulders and powerful legs. Dark curls fell around her shoulders and tumbled down her back, and she was smiling like a shark, wine red lipstick giving her expression a sultry air. Eyes done up in lashings of kohl and dark shadow made her amber eyes glow as they fixed on Malavai, and suddenly she felt extremely plain and boring next to this magnificent creature that walked like she was on the runway.

“You look _gorgeous_.”

Malavai took a second to realise Ven’fir was talking to _her_ , and she flushed. Well, that was nice to hear.

“I- thank you.” She murmured, smoothing her trousers. “So do you.”

Malavai wanted to touch her.

She looked so unattainable, so strong, beautiful and like she could tear an army apart with her bare hands and not scuff her heels.

Ven’fir grinned at her, and suddenly she was the Sith Malavai had grown so fond of, cheery, strange and kind.

She made a motion to Malavai, and it took a moment to realise that she was gesturing to her chest.

“Nice top, _very_ flattering. You know, I’ve always wanted to just smoosh my face in there.”

Malavai’s brain skipped a beat.

“My-my _lord_!”

Ven’fir laughed.

“Oh, come on. I don’t have anything up front, but _you_ do. You could smother me with those, and what a way to go!”

Malavai wanted the floor to eat her up now, thank you.

“My lord, _please_.” She protested, feeling her cheeks burning.

Ven’fir laughed again, loud and little too harsh to be ladylike.

It was nice, in a way.

For all Ven’fir’s presence and power and overwhelming personality, moments like this showed Malavai that her favourite Sith fell off her pedestal just as often as Malavai put her up there.

With the softest, most flaying look Malavai had seen on her face, Ven’fir _looked_ at her.

“You really do look lovely,” she murmured, voice pitched low and sweet. She sighed, and she seemed smitten. “I’m so pleased you said yes.”

Malavai wrung her hands, flattered.

“I- um, I am too. Pleased that I said yes.” She paused, plucking up the necessary courage. “Thank you for asking me, my lord.”

Ven’fir’s expression softened even more, and she smiled. She reached out and took Malavai’s hand in her own, squeezing just enough to be intimate.

“I think now you can call me Ven.” She murmured, pausing. “I’d give you a kiss right now, but then I’d ruin my lipstick.”

Malavai couldn’t help it and laughed. What a sweet, ridiculous woman.

Ven’fir’s eyes were warm and fond.

“Maybe later.” Malavai replied, unable to stop her own smile spreading over her face.

Ven’fir squeezed her hand.

“Count on it.” She winked, before gesturing to the door. “Now, Forencia’s awaits!”

Malavai frowned as they headed for the door, their coats over their arms. Ven’fir towered over her with those heels, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. Malavai wondered what it would like to be held by her.

“Forencia’s?” she parroted. “I don’t recognise the name.”

Ven’fir gave her a little grin.

“It’s a small place, out of the way. I thought you’d like something a little quieter and less public.”

Malavai’s heart swelled, and her breath caught as the rush of affection engulfed her.

Ven’fir, queen of attention and image, had picked somewhere quiet, just for Malavai.

Overwhelmed and with fondness curling in her belly like a contented cat, she squeezed Ven’fir’s hand.

“That sounds perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Ven'fir as a woman is exactly like canon Ven'fir only her hair is longer and she likes dresses more than he does.
> 
> Malavai is still a bit of a mess, but now she's got a pair Ven'fir likes to stare at and hates being in a skirt.
> 
> They're still adorable together. :P


	15. High School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ven’fir picks up his friends’ sisters’ kids from school and takes the opportunity to flirt with their mathematics teacher.

Ven’fir loved picking Vette's nephews up from school.

It wasn’t because of the kids, he loved them to pieces of course, but because they were troublemakers.

The twins were little rascals and, as they tended to get caught more often than not, they were often accompanied by a teacher when they were picked up.

He leaned back in his car, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. The air ruffled his hair, and the summer heat beat down on his exposed skin.

It was a stunning summer day, and he soaked up the heat.

His shades sat on his nose, protecting his eyes from the brightness of the afternoon, watching as the other parents and assorted child-wranglers waited outside the gates.

He knew Tivva's boys liked it when he picked them up, considering he was more like an uncle to them than ‘some guy their aunt knew’. They thought his car was cool, and he made sure to treat them on the way home, to ensure their loyalty.

It worked like a charm.

He heard the muffled sound of the bell, and smiled to himself, directing his mirrored gaze towards the gates where students would soon be streaming out of.

Four minutes later the air was filled with sounds and noise as joyous high schoolers finally escaped the perdition of their last class and burst out into the sunshine.

Knowing his charges would be late out as usual, Ven’fir settled down to wait.

He waved a few parents he had exchanged words with before, enjoying the busy atmosphere.

Fifteen minutes later, the last students were trickling outside, and most of the parents had gone. The first wave of buses had disappeared, and things were quieter.

The doors opened again, and Ven’fir couldn’t help but grin.

The twins were being led out by a teacher, their faces the kind of sly and sullen that hold him they were only sorry they got caught.

Heart thudding in his chest and his belly warming like the sunshine he could feel on his arms, he got out of the car to greet the odd trio.

The boys immediately brightened as soon as they saw him, their smiled sunny and delighted.

Ven’fir shot them a grin, his eyes firmly fixed on the best part of his day.

Malavai Quinn was Ven'fir's favourite part of the school run, and he had to stop himself from sighing as the man drew close.

His expression was cool and unamused, walking behind the boys like a vengeful drill sergeant.

Oh, the _things_ Ven’fir wanted to do to that man.

He lounged against his sports car, grinning as the boys walked quickly to greet him. They were sixteen now, and fully into their ‘too cool to be excited to see him’ phase.

“Uncle Ven!” Haren beamed, and Jethyr gave him a wave.

The two boys were scruffy and there wasn’t a tucked shirt on either of them.

Ven was so proud.

“We didn’t know you’d be picking us up today.” Jethyr smiled, adjusting his hold on his rucksack.

Ven’fir shrugged.

“Yeah, your ma and your aunt got caught up in traffic so I volunteered to come and get you.”

He glanced to the teacher, who had his arms crossed. He did not look pleased.

“Dr Quinn, always a pleasure.” He greeted, laying on the charm.

Quinn's mouth thinned.

“Mr Polaris.” He returned; tone mildly frosty. “I was hoping to have a chat with their mother or father about their behaviour.”

Ven’fir raised an eyebrow, amused.

“What did they do?”

Quinn's expression stayed stony.

The twins shuffled awkwardly.

“They distracted their IT teacher and used her login to set all the students backgrounds to pictures of dogs defecating.”

Ven’fir tried, he swore he did.

He gave a stifled laugh that sounded like their going out of a balloon.

Quinn’s eyes narrowed.

Ven’fir stifled his chuckles with a hand, his mouth furiously working to stop his smile.

“Well,” he managed. “That’s certainly... creative.”

The twins had the nerve to high five, and Ven’fir was _absolutely_ taking them to get ice cream after this.

Quinn raised an eyebrow.

“Creativity should stay in art class.” He said flatly. “There they can paint all the squatting dogs they like.”

Surprised at the humour, he smiled.

“You heard the man, boys. Right, hop in the car and we'll get you home.”

Beaming and not the least bit contrite, the twins all but sprinted to the sleek black sports car, throwing their bags in the back and slipping into the small back seats of the shiny convertible.

He shot Quinn a smile.

“Hey, sorry about them.” He lied, and chuckled when Quinn gave him a look that said he didn’t buy it.

“At the risk of sounding rude, Mr Polaris,” he began, eyeing him beadily. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Why, I’m very offended.” Ven’fir shot back, amused. “You besmirch my character.”

“Oh? The boys tell stories about you, you know.”

He raised an eyebrow, noting the small smile on the teachers face.

“All exaggerations, I assure you.”

“Is that so? Fair enough. After all, they did say you were the ‘coolest person ever’. Children do tend to over exaggerate.”

“Well, maybe they’re right about a few things.”

Quinn tilted his head.

“I think I would have had you in detention every day of the year, if I may say so.”

Ven’fir grinned.

“Now I’m very offended. How about you agree to a date with me, and I’ll forget about it?”

Never had Ven’fir seen someone so baffled by an offer of a date.

It was a cute expression on him, although Ven’fir was probably biased.

“I- excuse me?”

Ven’fir stepped forward a little, mindful of being in public.

“I’m asking you on a date.” He grinned, making no uncertainty about his intentions. “We can go out to dinner, maybe drink some fancy wine, and talk.”

The poor man looked completely surprised that someone would ask him on a date, and Ven’fir wanted to hug him.

He was slender and long limbed, his form highlighted by sensible, slim work trousers and an immaculately white shirt, rolled up to his elbows in the heat. Ven’fir decided that he would probably give terrible, awkward hugs, and wanted nothing more than to test his theory.

His glasses gave him a scholarly air, and the silver encroaching on his temples made him look distinguished.

He was _lovely,_ and Ven’fir very much wanted to get closer to him.

Oh, he was so pretty in a put together, nerdy kind of way.

Ven’fir would have him _begging_ for it if only he would let him.

He gave a winning smile.

Quinn, pink cheeked and looking awkward, glanced at him.

“I um, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He said eventually. “It wouldn’t be proper, considering I teach-"

Ven’fir shrugged.

“They have what, a month left? They’ll be starting sixth form at St Matthew’s this year.” He smiled, hoping it was enticing. “Is that the only reason not to go on a date with me? Because if it is, I’m going to wait until term is over and ask you again.” He warned with a grin. “You're my favourite part of the school run.”

Quinn's cheeks turned fuchsia; his eyes wide behind his glasses.

He looked embarrassed and, unless Ven’fir was deluding himself, flattered.

“I... I don’t know.” He managed, mortified.

Ven’fir, his gut clenching as he felt his chance slipping away, pulled out his phone.

“Just a date, nothing more. I promise.” He murmured, wanting it so badly it was almost suffocating. “Please?”

That seemed to do something for the other man, and he nodded. “Alright.” He murmured, “I can’t believe I’m saying this but... okay. Take my number, and... we'll work something out.”

Ven’fir barely heard the rest of his sentence, as he was too elated to listen.

He beamed, wanting so badly to hug the other man.

“You have no idea how happy that's made me.” He chuckled, feeling giddy. “I’ve liked you for ages.”

Quinn's eyes were saucers again, confused and surprised as though he couldn’t fathom someone liking him at all.

“I- Well, I look forward to seeing you too.” He admitted shyly, awkward.

Ven’fir nearly combusted.

Breathe.

Don’t scare the poor man.

“Well, I can’t say I’m not flattered to hear that.” he smiled. “I have to take the boys home now, but I’ll text you.”

Quinn looked to be valiantly trying to stay composed.

“I look forward to hearing from you.” He murmured, a tiny smile on his face.

Ven’fir managed not to kiss him then and there, and made a graceful retreat to his car, internally screaming.

“You took ages!” the twins complained, and Ven’fir shot them a grin as he settled into the driver’s seat and fastened his seat belt.

“Sorry, just chatting with your teacher. Don’t worry about it. Who wants ice cream?”

* * *

* * *

It was a little sad how quickly texts from Malavai became Ven’fir’s favourite part of the day.

What had started out as a few exchanges in the evenings had turned into messages every moment one of them was free, including before work in the morning, on lunch, after work and well into the evening.

Both of them were adults and were fully aware that if they didn’t get a response the other one was probably just doing something, but it was so nice to see that little notification at the top of his phone when he glanced at it.

The month ended and with it, the boys time in high school. It was a strange time, considering tests were done with and so was any effort the students might have put in. All they had to do was wait for the results.

For now though, it was a chance to be free from school and the worries that came with it.

For Ven’fir, his promised date was drawing closer.

Indeed, he hardly felt worried about it considering the amount of time the two had spent talking, but it felt a little strange to be meeting him in person again.

Never again would Ven’fir flirt while the teacher stood with his arms folded, amused but trying not to show it.

Ven’fir had decided on a coffee shop for their date. It was a nice neutral location, not to formal but not too casual.

Ven’fir spent a lot of time and money on his appearance anyway, but he put extra thought into what Malavai would like.

It was startling how much Ven’fir cared if he was honest.

This wasn’t the kind of date where the talking was a formality and he would end up in naked at the end.

He ran his fingers through his curls, looking critically at the artful ruffle.

He grinned, pleased with the effect.

Grabbing his keys and resolving to at least try and be a gentleman, he checked his pockets and, finding their contents to be in order, headed out of the door.

He was excited, and a little nervous.

Never had he put so much effort into someone just to get a date.

Perhaps it was because, looking at his past dating record, Malavai didn’t fit it at all.

Ven’fir didn’t care.

He was _lovely_.

Stepping into the coffee shop was pleasant, the smell of roasting beans and sugar washing over him. It was one of those places that managed to be both modern and impossibly comfortable, and he liked that.

He glanced around and there, sitting in one of the comfy looking chairs by the big window, was his date.

He was sitting there, looking at his phone with a neutral expression, taping away like he was writing an essay on there.

Feeling giddy, Ven’fir dodged a barista carrying a tray of empty plates and made a beeline for the little table.

Malavai looked up as he approached, and Ven’fir felt struck dumb by how much more lovely he looked when he was happy.

His blue eyes crinkled at the corners behind his glasses, the crow’s feet beginning to form at the corners giving him a cute expression when he smiled.

He looked immaculate as always, his perfectly white shirt undone a little at the collar and rolled up to his elbows, giving Ven’fir mouth-watering glimpses of his collarbones and forearms.

He stood up to greet him, and Ven’fir could finally appreciate those legs now he wasn’t in his work clothes.

“Hey,” he greeted for lack of anything better to say and found that he couldn’t stop grinning. Malavai gave him a shy smile back, inviting him to take a seat.

“Hey yourself,” Ven’fir heard him murmur, and suddenly it was like they hadn’t been talking every single day for a month.

“Enjoying your freedom for the next six weeks?” Ven’fir asked, settling into the plush chair.

Malavai chuckled.

“I have a lot of work to do still. Once I do that, then my summer holiday can start.”

Just like that, the dam was broken, and it was all Ven’fir could do to not lean over the table and kiss the other man right on his smile. They talked for hours, putting away several cups of coffee each and more than a few of the tiny cakes.

They made plans to meet up again the next week, and then the week after that. Meeting up for coffee, doing out to dinner, taking a trip to the beach when it was freezing and getting ice cream anyway, going for long walks along the trails in the woodland a few miles out or simply watching awful movies at each other’s houses.

Ven’fir, frankly, was absolutely smitten.

Before he knew it, it had been a year.

He slowly traced nonsensical patterns onto Malavai’s skin, feeling him shiver under his touch. They had just woken up and neither of them had the energy to move after the previous night.

Ven’fir knew his theory of ‘quiet yet kinky’ would hold true, and he hadn’t been wrong yet.

His boyfriend was snoozing against his side, the cold tip of his nose pressed against the crook of Ven’fir’s neck, his breath causing his skin to tickle every time he breathed.

Ven’fir was very aware of the sheets against his skin and how Malavai was like a furnace at his side. Malavai hated sleeping completely nude, much to Ven’fir’s pity, but there was enough of him on display to look at.

It was warm and quiet, the morning later than they both would usually have liked. Malavai was one of those terrible people who got up at seven on weekends and thought that was a lie in.

Unbelievable.

Still, Malavai certainly wasn’t awake now, and it gave Ven’fir the perfect opportunity to cuddle him where he wouldn’t be squirming or complaining about overheating.

Affection bloomed in his belly like a soft balloon, expanding to fill every inch of his body with giddy warmth. Her felt on cloud nine, his heart swollen with fondness and his breath stolen by love.

He wanted to bundle Malavai up in his arms and squeeze him like a child would with their favourite stuffed toy. He wanted to pepper him with kisses and be all over him, completely wrapped up in him.

He had been in love before, but never had he felt such bone deep, all encompassing affection for a person.

He _adored_ Malavai Quinn.

He was awkward and sarcastic, prim, uptight and so neurotically neat that it had caused more than one argument. He was sweet, shy, and his sense of humour was so dry it would put a desert to shame.

Also, he was _really_ hot.

Or so Ven’fir thought, anyway.

He had always liked put-together partners, no matter the gender, and had noted that his taste ran towards partners that were older than he was.

Well, Malavai ticked those boxes.

He smiled to himself, perfectly content I that moment, and moved his head to press a kiss to the flop of dark hair that rested at his side. Malavai’s hair was showing more and more salt in it’s pepper every day, something that made him frown when he looked in the mirror. Ven’fir had started his own encroachment and didn’t appreciate how Malavai had laughed at him after he found a prominent silver hair in one dark curl.

With a small smile and a fresh wave of fondness, he tried to disentangle himself from his boyfriend without waking him up.

It was futile.

Malavai was a heavy sleeper, but not even he could sleep through Ven’fir accidentally dipping the mattress so much he rolled into the hole.

Blinking awake, he fixed bleary, adorably confused eyes on Ven’fir, who wouldn’t help but laugh at him.

He leaned over and kissed his forehead.

“Sorry babe,” he murmured, “I was trying not to wake you.”

“Well, you did a terrible job.” Came the grunted reply, and Ven’fir laughed. There was his beloved grump.

“I’m going to head for the shower.” He informed, standing.

Malavai yawned, stretching and providing Ven’fir a wonderful view of how his body moved under the muted morning light.

“I’ll join you.” He managed, stifling another yawn.

Well, Ven’fir wasn’t ever going to say no to _that._

They were in Ven’fir’s penthouse, and that meant that the shower was more than enough for two.

Malavai’s little townhouse had less space, but it was homely in ways that Ven’fir loved.

Grinning, he grabbed for his boyfriends’ hand and gave him a small tug.

“Come on then,” he teased. “Can you get up yourself or shall I fetch your zimmer frame?”

Malavai shot him a dark look, the effect ruined by his messy hair and generally dazed expression.

“Forgive me for not moving quickly,” he shot back. “My legs feel like jelly.”

Oh. Right.

Feeling somewhat contrite, Ven’fir relaxed his hold but still helped him up.

“Was I too rough?” he asked, a little concerned. Malavai had been very enthusiastic and had, on more than one occasion, asked for more, but he still felt a little bad when his lover had the jelly-legs.

Chuckling as he stood up, Malavai pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“No, you were perfect.” He murmured, staying close. “You always are.”

How flattering.

He grinned.

“Careful, you’ll make my ego go pop.”

Giving him a dry look, Malavai headed towards the en-suite, leaving Ven to stare as his underwear covered ass as he walked away.

Oh, sweet stars in heaven.

Words could not describe that sight did to him.

If he could persuade Malavai to do porn with him, they would _clean up_ , he was sure of it.

Malavai would never, ever agree to do porn with him.

He had asked and been told a very emphatic ‘no’.

Pity.

Who would have thought that the stuffy teacher he had liked to watch while he was waiting for the kids would be so _wicked?_

People might not believe it, but Ven’fir knew better.

Malavai Quinn could be a cruel, wicked man.

The shower turned on and, a few seconds later, a pair of boxer briefs came flying out of the open door to hit Ven’fir in the chest.

Point made, he thought to himself with a grin, heading for the bathroom which now has faint steam wafting out of the doorway.

A wicked, wicked man.

* * *

After their shower that had turned into a soapy fumble like they had both known it would, Malavai headed downstairs to get some breakfast started while Ven’fir finished off his skincare routine.

They both liked to take care of themselves, but Ven’fir’s nine step marathon was something Malavai simply did not have the patience for.

To Ven’fir however, it was calming.

He puttered around his bedroom patting in serums and creams and essences while he listened to the faint sound of Malavai being domestic in the kitchen.

It was nice.

There was a muffled sound of keys in the front door.

He paused.

A few people had keys to his place, but who would be turning up now? He wracked his brain for any plans he might have missed and came up with nothing.

Pulling on his t-shirt and padding into the corridor, he heard people coming in.

“Uncle Ven!” came the shouted greeting, and he recognised the voice of one of the twins.

Amused and baffled, he made his way downstairs to find them already gone from the hall.

He entered the kitchen to the funniest standoff he had ever seen.

Malavai was holding an orange bell pepper, his eyes wide and surprised as the twins stared at him with expression of matching incredulity.

“ _Dr Quinn?!”_

Malavai cringed a little, but otherwise showed remarkable poise. He set down the pepper, wiping his hands on the tea towel on the counter and smoothing his t-shirt in a movement Ven’fir knew to mean that he was feeling awkward.

“Ah, hello Heren, Jethyr.” He greeted, tone just about staying even.

“Why are _you_ in Uncle Ven’s kitchen?” was said at the exact same time as “What are _you_ doing _here_?”

Malavai glanced to one side and spotted Ven’fir watching this and frowned. The boys followed his gaze and their eyes settled on him.

“Uncle Ven!” they cried in chorus.

Heren gestured expansively, gangly limbs making the gesture more dramatic than it should have been.

“What is _happening_?”

With a grin borne of years of ignoring awkward situations by pure force of will, Ven’fir sidled over to where Malavai was still standing like a statue and slipped an arm around his waist. He felt how tense his lover was and pressed a kiss to his cheek, soft and sweet.

The boys looked on, horrified.

“We’re dating.” He said simply and felt Malavai relax as he took control of the awkward situation.

The boys stared.

“You- you’re dating _Dr Quinn_?” Jethyr asked, baffled.

Ven’fir nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced at his lover, whose cheeks were turning a pale pink. “You knew I had a boyfriend.”

“I didn’t think it would be our old maths teacher!” Heren burst out, eyes like saucers.

Malavai sighed.

“I knew this would be difficult for you.” He murmured. “But we were not together until after you left school.”

Jethyr thought about something.

“All those times you said you were texting your boyfriend, you were texting _him?_ ” he accused, and Ven’fir nodded, grinning.

“Yeah. We’ve been together for almost a year now.”

At the dumbfounded silence, Malavai seemed to be trying not to fidget.

“Would anyone like a cup of tea?” he asked suddenly, hands moving towards the kettle. “And I was just about to start breakfast.”

Ven’fir nodded.

“Yeah, thanks babe.” He kissed Malavai’s cheek again and untangled from him.

“He’s a great cook,” he assured the boys, who still looked shocked and a little grossed out. It wasn’t because of the fact that they were both men that bothered them, their mother wouldn’t have allowed that kind of thinking to foster in her children, but more that their beloved honorary uncle was dating their dreaded maths teacher, the bane of their school lives.

Malavai, much calmer now he had a task to complete, glanced over. “Do you two want breakfast? It’s pepper and mushroom omelette.”

“I- okay.” Jethyr managed faintly, and Heren could only nod.

The two boys, taller and ganglier at seventeen that they had been a year ago, seemed to have had their minds blown.

As Ven’fir led them gently to where they could sit at the dining table, he couldn’t help but be entertained by the whole situation.

“What were you here for, anyway?” he asked, setting out breakfast peripheries. “I don’t remember planning anything.”

Heren shrugged. “Mum wanted us to pop over and pick up the spare wallpaper rolls you said she could have.”

Ven’fir blinked.

“Oh. Well, that’s fine. I’ll get them for you when you head off.” He assured, amused.

Jethyr was looking at him like cat would study a mouse.

Ven’fir raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

Jethyr, to his surprise blushed.

“You guys really are dating, aren’t you?” he marvelled, glancing to where Malavai was busy creating delicious smelling breakfast food. “Are you living together then?”

Ven’fir grinned, sly.

“No. He stayed over last night.”

It took them a second to work it out before their faces changed to horror.

The look on their faces paired with the startled expression Malavai wore sent Ven’fir toppling over the edge of laughter. Cackling, he held onto the counter for support as he laughed.

“Eww, Uncle Ven!”

“Ugh, that’s so _weird!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They are so adorably cute. <3
> 
> Family get togethers will be so hilariously awkward. :')


	16. Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You broke my heart, you know?"
> 
> "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of the story and my sanity, they are the same age in this chapter!

“Quinn, I know you can hear me.”

  
Malavai ground his teeth, hoping that if he ignored hard enough, the irritation would go away.

  
“Malavai~!”

  
The irritation, in this case, had a name.

  
He turned, spearing the other man with a beady look.

  
“Auror Polaris,” he bit out, wand hand twitching in anticipation of curses. “I can hear you. What do you _want_?”

  
Ven’fir Polaris, Auror and general pain in his ass, grinned at him.

  
He suited his red robes, cut in the standard style that allowed for maximum range of movement.

  
They were close fitting and practical, and Ven’fir wore them like he was on the front cover of Witch Weekly.

  
“Unspeakable Quinn,” he began, his grey eyes shining with amusement. “We're a team. We should act like one.”

  
Malavai glared.

  
“We,” he stressed, “Are not a team. You are here to keep an eye on me.”

  
Ven’fir shrugged, smiling.

  
“Yes, but at least I’m honest about it.” He said cheerily. “And I _like_ keeping an eye on you.”

  
The last part was purred at him in what Ven’fir probably thought was enticing.

  
It had been a long time ago, but Malavai had fond memories of that purr.

  
“You, and the rest of your department.” He grunted, turning and resuming his walk to the apparition point, his boots rapping against the polished floor of the Ministry.

  
His dark blue robes swished around his calves, snug and comfortable. His deep hood was around his shoulders, unneeded.

  
Ven’fir sighed.

  
“Can you blame them?” he asked quietly, keeping pace. “You're a secretive bunch.”

  
“I wonder why that is?” Malavai grunted, annoyed, barely noticing as people moved nervously out of his way.

  
Ven’fir chuckled and shook his head.

  
“Well, it's policy for two people to go."

  
“Since when have you _ever_ cared about policy?”

Malavai asked, incredulous.

  
“When I decided I wanted to get into your pants.” Ven’fir admitted easily, amused.

  
Malavai felt his cheeks heat up as he stared.

  
“I- You can’t _say_ things like that!” he protested.

  
Ven’fir shrugged.

  
“Yes, I can. Although I should probably amend that to ‘When I decided I wanted to get into your pants _again_ ’.” He said with a wicked grin.

  
Malavai was glowing, he was sure of it. 

  
Oh, he remembered that time very well.

  
Seventeen and full of bad ideas, he had a lot of memories of the inside of broom cupboards and secret passages.

  
“It's been seventeen years.” He said flatly. “Get over it.”

  
Ven’fir smirked.

  
“No.”

  
Malavai stared at him, wondering how this was his life.

  
How was working with his highschool ex more frustrating that years of working as a spy?

  
Trust Ven’fir to somehow be more inconvenient that You-Know-Who, of all people.

  
Turning on his heel from where he had paused to stare at the Auror, he headed for the portkey point like it was a lifeline.

  
He heard Ven’fir chuckling behind him, and ground his teeth.

  
Coming up to the bored looking witch at the desk, he pinned her with his best glare.

  
She blinked slowly at him.

  
“Quinn and Polaris, eleven o’clock, Hogwarts.” He all but snapped, and watched as she slid her eyes over to Ven’fir, and let them linger on him.

  
That slow gaze went from his face down to his feet, before dragging itself appreciatively up again to settle longingly on his smile.

  
Ven’fir shot her his best grin, heavy on the roguish charm.

  
“Auror Polaris,” she greeted, breathy and sparkle eyed. She discreetly patted her hair.

  
“Caroline!” he greeted, and she blushed as though her name had been a sweet nothing whispered in her ear. “How are you?”

  
“Oh, lovely. I’m just lovely.” She sighed, smiling at him, smitten.

  
“That's great to hear.” He said warmly. “I think we have a portkey booked for eleven? Myself and Unspeakable Quinn are due at Hogwarts.”

  
The reminder snapped her out of her lovelorn stupor for a moment, and she blushed again. She quickly checked her ledger, glancing at Malavai who folded his arms and let his face stay stony.

  
She quickly looked away.

  
“Uh, yes. You're all booked in for a return from Hogwarts. Return is at... five thirty?”

  
“Correct.” Malavai nodded, “Routine ward inspection.”

  
She didn’t listen, but instead looked up. Her gaze slid off Malavai like he was wearing a Notice-Me-Not, and fixed back on Ven’fir.

  
“You can go through to the waiting area now.” She assured, smiling as she passed him a battered looking Frisbee.

  
Ven’fir gave her a wink as they left, and she blushed pink all the way to her ears.

  
“You shouldn’t encourage them.” Malavai grunted as left earshot. 

  
Ven’fir chuckled.

  
“Why not? It's fun to play with them, and some of them have been a decent lay.”

  
Malavai wrinkled his nose.

  
“You're a whore.” He grumbled, and the Auror laughed.

  
“Sorry, you'll always be my first love.” He winked, “And you'll always be my first in other things, too.” He said with a flutter of his eyelashes and a wicked grin.

  
Malavai blushed.

  
Faded memories of teenage fumbling bloomed in his mind.

  
“You’re awful.” He muttered, and Ven’fir chuckled.

  
“Mm, probably.” He agreed, amused.

  
Malavai, not wanting to simply sit in silence and wait, took a book the size of a postage stamp from his pocket and, with a flick of his wand, enlarged it and began to read.

  
Now, if only he could get through ten minutes without-

  
“What are you reading?”

  
He sighed.

  
That.

“ _Concelhaut's Sixteenth Theorem_.” He recited, showing Ven’fir the cover. “It's about the properties of wards.”

  
That was a vast oversimplification, but it would do. 

  
Sorry, Concelhaut.

  
Ven’fir stared at him, a knit between his brows.

  
“That sounds... so unbelievably boring.”

  
Malavai threw him a nasty look.

  
“It's _fascinating_.” He bit out. He reached into his pocket and withdrew another shrunken book which he promptly returned to normal size.

  
He passed it to the Auror.

  
“There, you can read that one.”

  
Ven’fir was smiling until he read the cover.

  
“ _Just Six Numbers: Arithmancy in Theoretical Physics_.” He read aloud, becoming more horrified the more he read. “Malavai, you've got to be kidding.”

  
Malavai aimed a sweet smile in his direction. By Ven’fir’ look of disquiet, it was more vicious that sweet.

  
“I've finished that one, so you can borrow it for as long as you like.” He assured. “So that you don’t get bored while I’m working.”

  
Ven’fir wrinkled his nose.

  
“Fine. I will.” He muttered, shrinking the hefty tome and putting it into his pocket. “You'll see.”

  
Malavai hid a smirk behind his book, and waited.

  
Their slot was ready on the dot, a potbellied witch with flyaway grey hair appearing with a pop and giving them a nod before hurrying away.

  
Malavai stood and shrank his book, smoothing down his robes as Ven’fir stood and stretched.

  
“Ready?” he asked the Auror, raising an eyebrow as he held out the old Frisbee.

  
Ven’fir shot him a grin.

  
“Born ready, darling.”

  
Malavai rolled his eyes and disappeared with a lurch.

* * *

He breathed in the crisp Highland air and, for a moment, he felt like he was home.

  
The castle loomed above him like a welcoming parent, and he couldn’t help but feel a rush of fondness for it.

  
Nostalgia crept into his thoughts, and he recalled a much simpler time.

  
He sighed.

  
No point reminiscing, he had a job to do.

  
The grass beneath his feet was dewy and the beads of water trembled in the breeze. 

  
Ven’fir steadied himself next to him, smiling.

  
His grin turned fond when he set eyes on the castle, and he sighed.

  
“She's beautiful, isn’t she?” he murmured. “I think that every single time I see her.”

  
Malavai nodded, quiet.

  
“She is.” He agreed, taking in the rolling grounds, the iron grey sky, the dark waters of the lake and the edges of the forest.

  
For halfbloods raised in the muggle world like Malavai had been, it had been the most wonderful thing he had ever seen.

  
Ven’fir grinned, and nudged him.

  
“Come on, I want to see if they’ll give me some lunch.”

  
Malavai frowned at him.

  
“You didn’t eat?”

  
Ven’fir shook his head as they walked, heading away from the portkey point and towards the school.

  
“I did,” Ven’fir assured. “But I’m still hungry. I could go for a second lunch.”

  
Malavai kept pace with him, boots damp from the dew.

  
“I have no idea how you aren’t the size of the Giant Squid.” Malavai grumbled. “Some of us have to be careful about what we eat.”

  
Ven’fir smirked at him, roving his eyes over Malavai's form before finally coming back to his face.

  
It felt strange and a little filthy, and he blushed. He was glad his robes covered a lot of skin.

  
“You _do_ look good.” The Auror purred, amused and lascivious.

  
Malavai threw a glare his way and quickened his steps, ignoring the snicker from behind him.

  
Stepping inside the courtyard was strange. It was the summer and no students were present, so it was eerily quiet and still.

  
The doors let them in and the headed for the head’s office.

  
Neither of them were under any illusions that they weren’t being watched in case they went snooping, but as they didn’t have any intentions to do so, they didn’t mind.

  
The halls were clean and quiet, and it was nostalgic and strange.

  
Ven’fir suddenly chuckled, and Malavai raised an eyebrow at him.

  
“Do you remember when we met?” he asked, and Malavai rolled his eyes.

  
“How could I forget?” He muttered, “You made an impression.”

  
“I was defending your honour!”

  
Malavai levelled a flat look his way.

  
“You thought I was being picked on.” He accused.  
Ven’fir flapped a hand.

  
“How was I supposed to know the tiny Slytherin surrounded by older students was about to curse them silly?”

  
Malavai sniffed, haughty.

  
“I could always handle myself.” He defended. “I didn’t need a Gryffindor to charge in. Did you have any idea how much crap I got for being ‘saved' by a Lion?”

  
Ven’fir looked sheepish.

  
“Yeah, you told me.” He reminded. “I wasn’t going to leave you, though. You were this tiny little nerd getting pushed around!”

  
Malavai’s cheeks reddened.

  
He had been quite small when he was younger. 

  
He had needed to learn how to take care of himself pretty quickly after being sorted into Slytherin. Being a half-blood had meant that he had been the target for more than teasing about his study habits.

  
Ven’fir on the other hand, was from a Pureblood family. He had been adopted into it, which had left him open to much staring and whispered speculation as to his blood purity. Malavai recalled tear filled conversations by the lake in each other’s arms, Ven’fir hurt and vulnerable as he talked about his family and his home life in bitter tones.

  
Malavai's heart clenched.

  
They walked for a little longer, both taking their time to soak up the atmosphere.

  
The head wouldn’t mind if they dawdled a little.

  
They passed a particular tapestry that Malavai _knew_ hid a secret room and Ven’fir paused.

  
Malavai hoped he wasn’t about to say what he thought he was.

  
The Auror peered at the wall hanging, thinking.

  
Malavai's cheeks heated up.

  
“I’m pretty sure we fucked in here at one point.” Ven’fir mused, still thinking.

  
“ _Polaris_.”

  
Ven’fir glanced at him, and his expression broke into a wicked grin.

  
“Oh, we did! And you remember it!” he cackled. “You were hoping I wouldn’t recognise it, you sly dog.”

  
His cheeks burning, Malavai tried to stay composed.

  
“I distinctly remember almost being caught because _someone_ was too loud.” He pointed out.

  
Instead of embarrassment (what was he thinking, assuming Ven’fir Polaris had ever felt embarrassment in his _life_ ), he got a smirk.

  
“I could never stay quiet with your mouth on me.” he purred, stepping closer. “I hope those skills haven’t gone rusty.”

  
Desperately embarrassed and a little bit flattered, Malavai folded his arms.

  
“They haven’t.” He shot back.

  
Ven’fir’s grin widened.

  
“Good to know.”

  
Malavai, feeling pinned by his gaze, quickly looked away and continued on, his boots tapping against the stone floor.

  
Ven’fir fell into step with him, and Malavai let himself cast a discreet eye on the man.

  
He hadn’t changed much, from what he could see.  
Older, of course, but otherwise he had kept the same mess of thick curls, and the playful glint in those grey eyes was the same.

  
He looked good.

  
Of course he did, he chided himself. There was a reason Auror Polaris was on all the promotional material for the Ministry, and had enough notches on his bedpost to require a four poster just to fit them all on.

  
Still, there was a tiny kernel of pride at being the first to explore that territory.

  
Highschool sweethearts, Vette had called them.

  
He wondered what would have happened if the war hadn’t driven them apart?

  
Absently, he scratched his forearm and swallowed thickly. That was one reminder that wasn’t going to go away, even if it had been for the best of intentions.

  
They probably would have killed each other eventually, he thought with amusement. They always had argued just as much as they had kissed.

  
Climbing the staircase upwards, Ven’fir grinned.

  
“Do you remember that time we got found by Umbridge?”

  
Malavai shuddered.

  
“I had forgotten, but thanks for the reminder.” He grumbled. “I do remember, yes. I think that might have been one of my most embarrassing memories.”

  
The Auror nodded, to his surprise. “Yeah, I felt bad for you. People gave me a bit of shit for dating a Slytherin, but I know you got more.” He admitted.

“Still, detention was worth it.”

  
Malavai stared at him.

  
“Was it?” he asked pointedly, shaking his hand at Ven’fir.

  
The wounds had never scarred, but it had been close.  
Ven’fir winced.

  
“Maybe not.”

  
He brightened.

  
“I do recall her looking like she was going to be sick when she found us all over each other in that broom cupboard, though. She just pointed at that stupid sign; you remember the one? ‘Boys and girls are not permitted within 8 inches of one another.’” He mimicked the girlish, venomous tone with unnerving accuracy.

  
Despite himself, Malavai smiled.

  
“And the I believe you said something along the lines of ‘Last I checked, and I check pretty often, he's not a girl.’” He recalled, amused. “She looked like she was about to explode.”

  
Ven’fi laughed, the sound loud and honest.

  
“You remembered!” he said, delighted. “That was great. What was less great was writing ‘I will not engage in perverse behaviour’ about a million times in blood.”

  
Malavai nodded.

  
“True. It didn’t stop us, though.”

  
Ven’fir shook his head, amused.

  
“It didn’t. I think we probably did more stuff just to feel like we were giving a big ‘fuck you' to her.” 

  
He smirked, sly.

  
“We were pretty perverse, weren’t we?”

  
Malavai, despite his pink cheeks, couldn’t deny that.

  
“We were seventeen.” He stressed. “Teenagers are like that.”

  
Ven’fir shrugged, full mouth twitching into a little smile.

  
“Some of us never outgrew the horny phase.” Be laughed at himself, winking.

  
“Half the Ministry can attest to that.” Malavai shot back, unable to suppress his smile.

  
It was nice, talking with him again.

  
They had worked together for years, but had never really done much to engage properly, not after everything.

  
Malavai had broken his heart.

  
Ven’fir had told him so, the night he had had to leave to protect him.

  
‘You've broken my heart, you know?’ he had said, tears brimming in his eyes, looking so broken and hurt that Malavai could barely look at him.

  
Malavai remembered feeling sick and wanting nothing more than to throw it all away to have him in his arms again.

  
‘I know.’ He had said instead.

  
It had all come out in the end, the spying, the lies and the hurt.

  
The damage was done, though.

  
So, they had kept a cautious distance from each other, the wounds still raw and painful.

  
Over the years, time dulled the ache and they began to talk again, snatched banter in corridors or in meetings. Impersonal.

  
Now... well, Malavai was reminded why he had loved him.

  
And he _had_.

  
He had loved that ridiculous, rash Gryffindor that he had tutored to get through his OWLS, and who had been nervous to kiss him the first time and who had gone on to fight a war while Malavai had gone to skulk in the shadows as a spy on a cult.

  
Something caught in his throat, and he swallowed painfully.

  
Time had changed a lot of things, even when the war had ended.

  
Reaching the head’s office, they paused.

  
Ven’fir glanced at him, and the softness of the look flayed him.

  
“After this, how about a drink in the Three Broomsticks, for old times’ sake?” he asked, hopeful.

He was standing close enough for Malavai to reach out and touch him, if he wanted.

  
Malavai swallowed, reading this for what it was.

  
A chance.

  
His belly twisted with nerves but the flutter in his chest was light and airy.

  
He smiled, fond and a little shy.

  
“I'd like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THEN THEY WENT FOR THAT DRINK AND FELL IN LOVE ALL OVER AGAIN AND THEY WERE HAPPY FOREVER.
> 
> I can't believe I managed to have two school related prompts and still completely avoid writing these two as teenagers. Thank goodness for that!


	17. Ink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ven’fir is a tattoo artist that frequents Malavai's florist shop to practice drawing flowers.

Malavai had always liked flowers.

They were beautiful and fascinating, and his bookshelves at home were packed full of books on horticulture and botany.

His little shop was bright and tidy, and he had the peace he never thought he would have after the military.

A major, and now a florist.

If any of his squad mates had kept in touch, they would never have believed it.

Every surface was bursting with colour, the arrangements on display prepared to his own exacting standards.

Off to the side was a section for potted plants, and his counter was huge and neat. Coloured ribbons sat in their spools on the rack behind him, ordered by colour and width.

The air smelled like earth and blossom and new cellophane, and Malavai couldn’t think of anywhere he would rather be.

The little bell chimed as the door opened, and he glanced up as he finished sweeping up the last crumbs of dirt from his counter.

The man that stepped in was not his usual kind of clientele, but Malavai couldn’t say he didn’t appreciate new customers.

He was tall and solid, dressed in dark colours. A tight, faded black t-shirt with some band logo on it sat above a pair of battered jeans, and a multitude of bead and string bracelets sat on his wrists.

His arms were completely covered in tattoos, delicate, clean black lines against bronze skin.

Malavai couldn’t make out any specific design from where he was, but it was intricately beautiful anyway. More ink was visible above the hem of his t-shirt, a few delicate peeks curling up over his neck and throat.

Interestingly, not a single one seemed to have colour.

He made a beeline for Malavai, who put on a polite smile for a customer.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted, “Can I help you?”

The man gave him a smile, and _oh._

That was a nice smile.

“I hope so.” He replied. “This is going to sound a little weird, but can I draw your flowers please?”

Malavai blinked at him, and the man chuckled.

“Sorry, that was a bit forward.” He held out a hand. “I'm Ven’fir, I own _Wrath and Rose_ over the road.”

Malavai shook his hand, returning the strong grip.

His hands were very warm.

The tattoo shop had opened up a month or so ago, and had a steady stream of business since then. It was a modern sort of place, all shiny black interior and slick logo.

Malavai hadn’t thought much about it, honesty.

“Malavai.” He introduced, polite.

Ven’fir grinned.

“Nice to meet you. Yeah, so! I specialise in floral designs, and I want to practise flowers, especially the exotic ones.” He tilted his head, looking hopeful. He ran a hand through his hair, and Malavai noticed that his ears were pierced through with gold all over, and there were rings on his fingers that caught the light. He couldn’t count the number of studs and hoops before they were hidden again.

Malavai didn’t see why he should refuse.

“Well, I suppose that’s fine.” He admitted. “I would ask that you come after closing time though, so that you're not in the way of my customers.”

Ven’fir gave him a boyish grin, eyes bright.

“That sounds perfect.” He beamed; his cheer infectious. “I’ll repay you somehow, neighbour.”

He winked, and Malavai liked his cheerful energy.

“Let me leave you my number,” he said suddenly, “So you can let me know when I can come over with my sketchpad.”

He looked so genuinely pleased that Malavai couldn’t help but smile.

“That sounds good,” he assured. “I'll let you know.”

* * *

After a brief exchange of text messages, Malavai found himself clearing up after a long day. It had been a busy one, but nothing too strenuous.

The little bell rang and instead of a baffled customer who couldn’t read the sign, it was a tall figure in black and ink, carrying a small rucksack.

Spotting Malavai surrounded by his new delivery of tiger lilies, he smiled.

“Neighbour!” he greeted with cheer. “Had a good day?”

Malavai smiled as he swept soil from his counter onto the floor where he would sweep it all up in one go. A customer had wanted a whole range of new houseplants, and obliging had left him with a grubby counter.

“Yes, thank you.” He replied, wiping his hands on his apron. “You?”

Ven’fir scoffed.

“Someone asked if I could draw a pair of tits on his arse, but other than that it was fine.”

Malavai blinked.

“Why on earth would someone want that?”

VVen’fi shrugged.

“No clue. My assistant took that one. Vette doesn’t mind doing the funny stuff for me.” He admitted. “I have nothing against any art, but it seems weird to come to me of all people, just to get some tits on your arse. I'm not cheap.”

Malavai, somewhat disturbed, shook his head.

“To each their own, I suppose.” He murmured. “I don’t know what you want to look at first, but if I have it in stock then I’ll get it out for you.”

Ven’fir smiled.

“Thanks, that’s really kind of you.” He brightened. “That reminds me! I got you something. You know, to say thanks.”

He unzipped his rucksack and produced a small tupperware container, which he promptly passed over. Opening it, Malavai found himself confronted with a stack of rich, gooey looking brownies.

“So... thanks.” Ven’fir said with a smile. “I hope you like chocolate. I must have put half the shop in.”

“You made these?” Malavai asked, trying to ignore the tempting waft coming from the box.

“I’m a man of many talents!” the artist winked, producing his sketchbook and a tightly bound roll that Malavai assumed contained pencils and pens.

He glanced around, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Could I start with one of those lilies?” he asked, gesturing to the colony of fresh pots on the side. “I like their shape.”

“Sure.” Malavai allowed, amused at how he was squinting at the vibrant flower. “I’ll leave one out for you.”

Malavai let him borrow his stool and he sat there while Malavai tidied, drawing with a look of concentration that was adorable in its intensity.

It was nice, he had to admit, having company. Ven’fir was mostly quiet save for the scribbling of his pencil, and the occasional hum.

Eventually, Malavai had nothing else to clean. His workspace was immaculate, and he felt pleased at his efforts.

He glanced over, seeing Ven’fir exhibiting some truly horrendous posture as he hunched over his sketchpad.

“Do you want a cup of tea?” Malavai offered, oddly charmed by this odd man who smiled so much. “I’m going to lock up soon.”

Ven’fir glanced up as though he had forgotten where he was, and smiled.

“That would be lovely, thanks. Strong, three sugars please.”

There was a small kettle and mini-fridge in the room that doubled as his office and break room, and Malavai made tea for them both. He didn’t have sugar in his at all, so he had to hunt for the last of a bag in the back of the cupboard. He resolved to buy more, if Ven’fir was going to make a habit of this.

Carrying one mug of tea and one of tea flavoured syrup, he returned to the shop floor. The light had dipped behind the rooftops an hour ago, but Malavai didn’t mind.

He would only have been working at home anyway.

Ven’fir was packing his things away when Malavai returned, but he paused when he heard the door open. He glanced up, smiling.

“My saviour.” He chuckled, accepting the mug offered to him. It was green and had a stylised image of a sprout coming up from a pile of soil, above some loopy font that read ‘Gardeners Know All The Dirt’.

Ven’fir looked amused, especially when he spotted Malavai’s own mug, a yellow one with a flower on it that read ‘I Wet My Plants' written in bold letters.

Malavai blushed.

He had forgotten about those. Jaesa had given them to him for his birthday a few years ago, and he had been the only one to use them for a long time.

“Want a brownie to go with the tea?” Ven’fir offered, grinning.

Grateful for the escape of thinking about his cheesy mugs, Malavai cracked open the box and was met with the aroma of delicious baking.

After offering the box to Ven’fir, he took a cautious bite of his and almost moaned.

“Good?” Ven’fir asked, equal parts smug and amused.

Malavai nodded decisively.

“ _So_ good.” He assured. “I won’t be able to fit through the door.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” Ven’fir said with a little smirk.

It was a throwaway phrase, but something in the tone made his cheeks go pink.

He fussily brushed down his apron, feeling the heat in his cheeks.

“How often do you want to come in?” he asked, curious.

Ven’fir waved a hand.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be over every day and cramping your style.” He assured, grinning. “Once a week?”

Malavai wouldn’t have minded if it was a little more frequent, but be nodded.

“Of course.” He paused. “May I see what you drew?”

Ven’fir blinked, surprised at the question.

“Yeah, if you want.” He said easily, flipping open his sketchpad and handing it over.

The lily was drawn in pencil and inked over in fine black lines. It was _stunning._

It was simple and yet very detailed, and Malavai immediately fell in love with the style.

“This is _gorgeous_.” He breathed, gently brushing his finger over a line and feeling where the paper indented. “You're very talented.”

Ven’fir looked pleased with the compliment, and gave him a grin.

“Maybe one day I'll do one on you.” He murmured, and Malavai got the impression that he meant it.

He shook his head, smiling awkwardly.

“No thank you.” He deflected. “I don’t think it's quite my style.”

* * *

Like clockwork, Ven’fir would show up every Thursday afternoon.

Malavai was convinced he loitered nearby and waited for him to flip the sign; he was so reliable.

Either way, it was nice to have company as he cleaned and prepped for the next day.

They talked over tea and the fancy coffee that Malavai kept in the back, and Malavai found that he had a friend.

A whole two, now.

It was nice.

Ven’fir brought delicious baked treats every week, and he admitted that he was a terrible cook and only a passable baker, at least before he had started binging baking shows after work when he was bored.

He was an odd individual, but Malavai liked him.

He was a mess of contradictions.

He only seemed to wear shades of black clothing in varying states of artful disarray, but he was very picky about his appearance. His arms and what Malavai could see of his torso covered in intricate tattoos, and he wore jewellery like he was at a glitterati party. He spoke with a cut glass accent that screamed ‘private school’, but his sense of humour was akin to a fifteen-year-old who had been left unsupervised on the comedy channels.

He laughed loudly and smiled often, but his scathing commentary of obnoxious customers was nothing short of vicious.

His studio was a classy establishment, and the man himself was a true artist, but the way he flirted could only be described as lascivious.

Malavai was quite socially awkward (and even _he_ knew that), but unless he was reading things very wrong, Ven’fir was flirting with _him_.

It wasn’t a problem in that he was a man, Malavai had known he was bisexual the moment he had spotted an underwear model on an advert and immediately researched why it affected him like girls did.

So.

Malavai liked him.

Probably a bit too much.

He was decently self-aware, and he knew of his tendency to get attached to anyone who was even vaguely nice to him.

It was a bit sad, if he was honest, but he couldn’t do much to change it.

He sighed, waiting for the clock to tick away the last seconds until it was officially closing time.

Malavai couldn’t turn the sign any later or earlier than the exact time, or it would annoy him.

He sighed again, moving his secateurs to their proper place before brushing a fingertip over the orchid that stood proudly in its pot.

He hadn’t been planning on orchids, he thought they were rather overrated, but Ven’fir had mentioned that he had never drawn one.

A delivery had turned up a week later.

Business was doing very well, and he had been busy all day.

He hands had been arranging and cutting, clipping and watering, but his mind had been wandering to a cheeky smile and a too tight t-shirt.

Malavai was such a _mess_.

The first bit of positive attention and he was already pining over someone who would likely never look at him the way he looked at them.

He was under no illusions about his attractiveness.

He didn’t think he was _hideous_ , he took care of himself, but the issue reared its head when he opened his mouth.

Malavai was _weird._

He wasn’t the cool kind of weird like Ven’fir was, he was the kind of weird that couldn’t flip his shop sign to ‘closed' ten seconds too early, didn’t laugh at jokes or who liked doing maths puzzles in his spare time.

Ven’fir seemed to not notice.

He _had_ to have noticed. Perhaps he was just being nice so that he could keep turning up and drawing Malavai's flowers.

But... he didn’t think so. Malavai was a decent judge of character, and he didn’t think Ven’fir was guileful or cruel enough to be playing a trick on him or using him.

That meant... that he liked him.

He hoped so.

He swallowed painfully, and tried to calm his mind.

If he allowed those thoughts to melt into a rushing tumble, it would overwhelm him.

He raised his hand and, eyes on the clock on the wall, counted down until the big hand touched the twelve.

He flipped the sign.

He headed back to his counter to pretend that he wasn’t waiting for his favourite visitor, and fussily tidied the stray stalks that had rolled under the feet of the bonsai he kept next to the register.

It wasn’t for sale, and he had been keeping it since he had started the shop, many years ago.

It was a pretty red maple, and he absently tended it while he waited.

The bell jingled not soon after, and Malavai jerked his head up at the sound.

Ven’fir walked in, a little tupperware under his arm and his rucksack over one shoulder.

Malavai almost sighed, smitten.

“How's my favourite florist?” Ven’fir greeted cheerfully.

Malavai knew it was just a phrase, but it still made his belly flip and his chest swell with something warm.

“I’m well, thank you.” He murmured. “How are you?”

The artist beamed at him, and sat himself on the spare stool that Malavai had discreetly moved out of storage just for him.

“I’m really good!” he assured. “I got to finish this amazing back piece on a client today. It’s taken seven sessions, but we finally did the last of it today. I’m so proud of it,” he gushed, “It's one of my top five favourite pieces I’ve done.”

Malavai listened to him fondly as he talked, neither of them even starting their usual tasks.

The sun dropped lower and lower as they talked, and they hadn’t even moved yet.

Eventually they had to do something other than talk to each other, and Malavai pushed a pot towards him.

“We have orchids this week.” He murmured, “I remember you saying you wanted to draw one.”

Ven’fir’s face lit up.

“Mal, tell me you didn’t get these in just for me.” He breathed, glancing up. Malavai kept a straight face.

“I just thought they would be a change.” He said, congratulating himself on his steady tone. He had always been an excellent liar.

Ven’fir gave him a look, but soon turned back to look at the flower.

It was a delicate, pretty thing, all white and pale pink fading into blush and magenta.

Out of the blue, Ven’fir sniggered.

When Malavai looked curiously at him, he waved a hand as he laughed.

“I should request those orchids that look like little naked men.” He cackled, and Malavai snorted.

“If I ever stock _orchis italica_ , you’ll be the first to know.” He said dryly, watching Ven’fir as he laughed to himself.

The artist, unable to speak through his peals of laughter, held up his little finger and crooked it before collapsing with mirth again.

Amused, Malavai smiled.

“If you wanted to draw naked men, there are easier ways to do it.” He chuckled. “Like finding a life drawing class.”

Giggles dying down, Ven’fir wiped his eyes, still grinning.

“I don’t need to go to a life drawing class to see naked men.” He winked.

Malavai flushed at that suggestive tone.

Well then.

“I’m sure your mirror would do just fine.” He managed, cursing his crimson cheeks.

Ven’fir gave him a soft little grin.

“Mm, I would prefer a real model.” He murmured; eyes half lidded. “Someone lovely and pretty to look at.”

He smiled.

“I’d like to draw you.”

Malavai stared, his face glowing.

“I- what?” he managed, surprised.

Ven’fir chuckled.

“I’m best at flowers, but I can do a passable sketch of someone. I’d like to draw you, one day.” He glanced at Malavai. “Especially since you won’t let me draw _on_ you.”

“You're not drawing me naked.” Malavai said flatly, uncomfortable with the idea of someone looking at him with a critical artist’s eye.

Ven’fir waved a hand.

“That's okay. As much as I would like to see you with your clothes off, I wouldn’t ask that of you if you didn’t want me to.”

Malavai's brain was _melting_.

Ven’fir was... well, he was doing _something_.

“I... are you flirting with me, or are you just making fun of me?” Malavai asked, fingers digging his apron as he frowned.

Ven’fir blinked.

“Would you object if I did flirt with you?” He asked, tilting his head. “Unless you're straight? I’ve been known to be wrong.”

Malavai cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I- Well, that’s not an issue.” He admitted. “I like men and women.”

Ven’fir grinned.

“I was worried I was losing my edge.” He teased, “And I must admit that I would have been quite disappointed.”

Something like a spark cut through the embarrassment in Malavai's belly, and he tilted his head.

“Why?”

Ven’fir’s expression was soft.

“You're cute.” He murmured. “I was hoping to ask you out.”

Malavai, studiously ignoring how his brain was screaming at him, smiled.

“Ditto.” He murmured, and watched Ven’fir grin.

“What a pair we are.” He chuckled. “Well then, how would you like to get coffee with me this weekend?”

Malavai, his belly doing somersaults and his lungs expanding with joy, nodded.

“I'd like that.”

* * *

Malavai was in a dreamland.

Things like this, meeting someone that he liked and who didn’t think he was weird or too awkward, just didn’t _happen_ to him.

Usually he either liked someone and they had no idea because he never told them, or he _did_ and got a look of ‘ew' for his trouble.

That was when he was _younger._

Now he was _old_ and weird, and his chances were slimmer than ever, in his opinion.

Ven’fir didn’t seem to notice that.

Their date (he was on a proper _date!_ ) was going well.

Suspiciously well.

Really, they had just started talking like they always did, only now it was in the kitsch little coffee place Ven’fir liked called the Dread Bean instead of Malavai's shop.

It felt like chatting with Jaesa, only there was a simmering of fiery attraction there.

Ven’fir was so... contradictory.

He bad a fairly macho air to him, but he thought nothing of picking a sparkly purple cupcake because he liked violets and thought the floral case was pretty. He didn’t like strong coffee because he couldn’t stand the bitterness, but he happily showed Malavai where had his tongue pierced and described how little he thought it hurt.

He lounged in the chair, a tall figure in black clothes, tattoos, and piercings, talking about his favourite contestant on the _Great Imperial Bake Off_ , whatever that was.

He looked like he could probably bench press Malavai's car, but he liked doing yoga and danced salsa on Tuesdays.

He did martial arts tournaments and he cried at the end of _Warm Hearts, Cold Space VI: Return of the Diamond Assassin._

He flirted, and Malavai flirted back.

Malavai _really_ wanted him.

He wanted him any way he could get him, but he would be more than happy with that stupidly tight t-shirt off so he could map out those tattoos with his tongue.

Most people mellowed as they got older, but Malavai was sure that he was far more prudish back when he was twenty.

He was depressingly far from being twenty.

Now, he wouldn’t think much of falling into bed with someone he liked well enough, with only the cursory thoughts of appropriateness to guide him.

Maybe it was because he was old and tired of the bullshit social rituals that he had never been good at anyway, or perhaps it was just a notion of ‘take what you can get’.

If it was the second one, that was probably quite sad.

Either way, it didn’t happen often.

At _all_.

He was thinking about it too much.

He was listening to Ven’fir while he talked, his eyes catching the occasional glint of metal in his mouth.

He swallowed.

He really needed to get it together.

He has never thought that aesthetic was particularly attractive, but now he was having to revaluate his previous thoughts.

Maybe it was just because it was on Ven’fir.

Possibly.

It didn’t change the fact that he was dying to find out what kisses were like with him.

He probably wasn’t Ven’fir’s usual type either, but if that wasn’t stopping the artist then it certainly wouldn’t stop him.

They must have made for a funny sight, the two of them.

Ven’fir in his too tight clothes and jewellery as he obliterated a lurid purple cupcake, and Malavai sipping americano in his shirt and fussy glasses.

Ven’fir saw him looking and winked, buttercream on his top lip.

Malavai laughed, and felt as light as air.

* * *

Malavai had never had such busy weeks before.

Ven’fir now came over two days of the week, and they saw each other for a proper date at least once.

Ven’fir had started doodling designs for him, and Malavai had pinned some of his favourites in the little back room.

He was very much enamoured with the artist over the road, and it was a lovely feeling.

Except...

Malavai was frustrated.

It had been two months, and Ven’fir hadn’t even kissed him.

Well, he _had_ , little pecks and closed mouthed kisses here and there, but not the kind of kisses Malavai wanted.

He assumed Ven’fir was the sort to want to take the lead on this kind of thing but so far, the artist had been tactile yet chaste.

It was _weird._

Maybe he was asexual and was having trouble telling him?

Considering his talk of past relationships, that didn’t sound like the case.

Maybe he didn’t actually find Malavai attractive?

Also unlikely, unless he was an excellent liar.

Malavai sighed, absently inspecting his bonsai.

It was getting to the point where he was tempted to just drop to his knees behind the counter to see if that did anything.

Annoyed, he aggressively watered the agapanthus in the big pot.

How frustrating.

The little bell jingled and there was his favourite person. His ire melted.

“Hey,” he greeted fondly, and Ven’fir grinned at him.

“Hey yourself,” he smiled, walking over to kiss him hello.

Malavai might have lingered a little too long on the kiss and pressed a shade too close, but Ven’fir didn’t seem to notice.

He pulled away and with a boyish grin, handed Malavai a sheet of paper.

It was high quality stuff, apparently torn from Ven’fir’s own sketchbook.

On it was a design, much smaller than the ones he usually came out with.

It was a little thing, simple and elegant.

All of his work was lovely in Malavai's opinion, but this one was... personal.

It wasn’t Ven’fir in that design, it was Malavai.

He glanced up.

“It's gorgeous.” He murmured. “Is this for me?”

Ven’fir nodded, pleased.

“Yeah, it was either that or one of those little dick orchids.”

Malavai was startled into a laugh.

“They're not _dick orchids_.” He stressed, but the effect was ruined by how he couldn’t stop smiling.

Ven’fir snickered.

“They absolutely are.” He muttered, amused. “Anyway, I actually thought we could watch a movie or something tonight? I’ll sketch while you tidy up, but afterwards could we watch something?”

He looked hopeful, and Malavai felt a surge of fondness.

“That does sound nice,” he admitted. “But no _Warm Hearts, Cold Space_.”

Betrayed, Ven’fir immediately protested.

“But they’re the best films ever made!”

Tidying away his spray bottle and ribbon, Malavai snorted.

“They’re really not.”

An argument broke out, and the two of them bickered until there was nothing left to clean.

Malavai's house wasn’t far, and Ven’fir followed along on his bike.

Of course Mr. Cool had a bike, and of _course_ it was a black one that looked like it ate other bikes for breakfast.

Amused and fond, Malavai led the way.

Ven’fir had been over to his house before to watch movies and in one memorable occasion, bake cookies.

Ven’fir looked so out of place in Malavai's living room, sinking into the squashy sofa and sorting through Malavai's film collection.

And yet, he also didn’t.

He looked perfectly at home.

Smiling, Malavai brought in a bottle of wine and two glasses, resolving to order takeaway instead of cooking.

Half an hour of bickering over film choices later, they were working their way through plates of yaki soba and the rest of the wine.

Some trashy action movie was on the screen, and they were having a better time poking fun at it than actually watching.

Halfway through, Malavai leaned over and curled up at Ven’fir’s side, yawning.

He was so _warm_.

Malavai wondered what it would be like to fuck him.

Would Ven’fir even want to? Some men liked to stay in their preferred lane as it were, and that was fine.

From what he had said though, he would be willing to switch things up now and again.

His thoughts drifted away from the awful movie to thoughts of hands and mouths, heat and wound-tight need.

He wanted that.

As the credits rolled, he was feeling pleasantly buzzed from the wine and the cupcakes Ven’fir had brought over.

He pressed closer.

“This was nice,” he heard Ven’fir murmur, happy.

Malavai smiled.

“It was.” He agreed, “But it's still early.”

It wasn’t the smoothest line nor the most informative, he realised afterwards, but the way he moved to kiss the other man didn’t need much explanation.

Except apparently it did, because Ven’fir accepted the kiss, keeping it firmly chaste, before he pulled away with a smile.

“Yeah, maybe we could watch another-"

Malavai snapped.

He moved to sit upright and swung his leg over Ven’fir, straddling him so he could look him in the eye.

“Ven, why aren’t we having sex?” he asked bluntly, annoyed. “You talked about what you got up to with your exes. Am I that repulsive?”

The poor artist looked quite taken aback, even as he hands move to rest lightly on Malavai's hips.

“Of course not!” he blurted out; expression horrified. “I think you're gorgeous.”

Malavai stared down at him.

“Then why are we not fucking each other?” he demanded, the heat in his cheeks from wine and frustration.

Ven’fir looked awkward.

“I... well- I thought maybe you didn’t want to jump into bed so early on.” He mumbled. “I don’t really do relationships like this, one’s that aren’t just sex, I mean. I wanted to do it right, let you know I really liked you for _you_ , not for what we did in the bedroom.”

His cheeks were faintly pink, his bronze skin hiding most of his blush.

“I asked Vette what to do, and she said that ‘cause you're all proper and stuff, you'd want to take it slow.”

Malavai blinked at him.

“’Because I’m all proper and stuff’?” he repeated.

Ven’fir looked abashed.

“Yeah?”

Malavai just stared at him.

Ven’fir fidgeted.

“I really, really like you, and I didn’t want it to seem like I was only with you for sex.” He babbled. “I mean, I’m not saying that I don’t want to sleep with you because of _course_ I do, you're sexy and no one in their right mind wouldn’t think so, and I keep thinking about it so much it's gotten to be a bit of a problem and-"

Malavai shut him up with a kiss.

This time, Ven’fir didn’t pull away.

He melted into the kiss, holding tighter as Malavai pressed close.

He tasted like wine and chocolate, and Malavai almost fell apart at the feeling of ‘finally’.

He was so warm and this was _so_ _good,_ it made Malavai's head swim.

He wanted to drown in this feeling, and he threw himself into it.

By how Ven’fir made a small noise underneath him, he liked the enthusiasm.

One of his hands played with the hem of Ven’fir’s t-shirt, and slipped under it to run his palms over the warm skin underneath it.

The shirt got higher and higher on his body as Malavai explored, and eventually Ven’fir pulled away for a second to just take it off.

He was a work of art.

His _own_ art, Malavai was sure.

Done in black and exquisite detail, the designs completely covered his arms and continued over his shoulders.

A rose curled around his forearm, thorny and delicate. A spray of lilies decorated his neck and a cloud of petals drifted down from a cherry blossom branch that curled over his shoulder, sowing delicate petals over his torso, which was free of any other designs. His arms most heavily inked, with barely a space left.

It looked like a carpet of flowers, and Malavai had to look closely to see some of the smaller ones amid the larger blooms. Leaves and ferns and buds filled in spaces, and Malavai could look at him for _hours_.

From what he could see, his back was decorated too, and he resolved to look later.

His jeans sat low on his hips and he could see the shadows of even more ink there, and Malavai needed to get this man naked just so _look_ at him.

He felt the hands on his waist grip tighter, and it a rare moment of cheekiness, he rolled his hips, and couldn’t hold in a grin at Ven’fir’s little whine.

He pulled away just far enough that their noses almost touched.

Ven’fir was wide eyed and flushed.

“In case that wasn’t convincing enough,” Malavai murmured, “I want you to put me over the nearest flat surface and fuck me until I can’t walk and the only thing going through my head is your name.”

The poor artist looked flayed.

He swallowed, looking up at Malavai like he was a winning lottery ticket.

“You're amazing,” he breathed, beaming.

Malavai, already flushed with wine and desire, could have sworn his cheeks went darker.

The compliment drove through him and settled into his belly, warm and perfect.

He smiled, and pressed flush to the man underneath him, his mouth brushing the shell of his ear.

“And then maybe when we're done,” he breathed. “I could do that to you?”

There was a beat before Ven’fir tugged him in for a desperate kiss, and Malavai laughed as he let himself fall into it.

* * *

“Does it hurt?”

Ven’fir rolled his eyes, preparing his tools.

“Not usually. Where you've chosen? A little bit.”

Malavai sighed, nervous. Ven’fir chuckled.

“You've been shot at, patched up gunshot wounds and served in the military for _years_ and you’re afraid of a little needle?”

Malavai threw him a dirty look.

“I’m not _afraid_ ,” he stressed. “I’m just... curious of the process.”

He paused.

“Besides, I’ve not been shot at in years.”

Amused, Ven’fir came over to him and pressed a kiss to his temple, making sure not to touch him with his clean gloves.

“You'll be fine.”

Malavai wasn’t so sure, but he wanted to do this and the end result was what mattered.

He jumped when the needle started buzzing, and Ven’fir laughed at him.

Dick.

When they were done and Ven’fir was cleaning up, Malavai admired the simple little design on his inside forearm.

It was small and delicate, only about two inches in length, and depicted a delicate sprig of tiger lilies.

He couldn’t stop looking at it.

He had been the same with the ring that now sat on his finger.

“Like it?”

He glanced up at Ven’fir’s question, and saw the man smiling at him.

Malavai stood up from the chair and walked over to kiss him, soft and sweet.

“I love it,” he breathed, affection warming every inch of his body. “Thank you.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to imagine Malavai can only stop being such a fussy bag of anxiety when he's been drinking. ^_^


	18. Law Enforcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malavai is a detective on the trail of a murderous vigilante. The closer he gets to his mark, the more they begin to tear each other apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No fluff here, only the Bad Times.

Malavai felt the rain on the back of his neck, and cursed the sky.

The city was shrouded in grey and cloud, the rain blurring the shades together with pops of colour from the lights from the squad cars in the street.

He sighed, the smog and grit being washed away by the pattering rain.

He liked the rain, but he didn’t like what it did to evidence.

Washed away, just like the smog.

His feet splashed through grimy puddles as he approached the small crowd of officers, their faces grim and hard.

There was no public around here, they were behind a cordon even further away.

Nobody wanted pictures of this on the internet.

Malavai flashed his ID at one of the officers and she nodded curtly, lifting the tape so he could slip under it and into the crime scene.

He had to walk a little way into the alleyway to get there, but the white suited forensics team was already trying to save what they could from the rain.

Blood mingled with water, reaching for him as it curled into the gutter and down the drain.

He knew what he would find.

The gaggle of white suited forensic technicians parted for him, and he finally set eyes on the body.

Other men might have flinched back.

Some might have had to turn away.

Malavai looked on, grim.

The body was cuffed to a drainpipe, back against the wall of what looked to be a warehouse.

The head was tilted back in a sort of rapture, rain pattering gently onto the bloodless skin.

Blank, filmy eyes stared sightlessly up towards the sky with unnerving intensity.

The head was placed oddly, tilted back too far to be natural.

The throat was open, rent wide enough to see the inside, washed almost clean by the steady rain.

The clothes were soaked through with reddish brown, and Malavai knew that under them the body would be a mass of bruising and pulped flesh.

“Detective.”

He glanced up at the voice, seeing the coroner watching him.

Malavai nodded to him, glancing away from the body.

“Got anything?” he asked, tone even.

The coroner shook his head.

“Not enough to tell you right now.” He murmured. “It's just like the others. Clean.”

Nothing about this was clean, Malavai thought.

This was rage.

This was fury and anger.

This was a message, just like all the others had been.

He nodded, a rush of frustration blooming in his belly.

The body would be taken to the morgue and an autopsy would be performed, and they would find out that he had been beaten half to death, before he had been dragged out t that alley and been cuffed to the drainpipe, whereupon his throat was cut with a precise hand.

His ID would come back as a match for a known gang member, one of the lieutenants from The Hand.

Malavai sighed, tasting petrichor and blood in the air.

“He's not going to stop.” He muttered. “He's only getting started.”

The coroner gave him a hard look.

“You should be more careful with words like that.” He murmured.

Malavai glanced at him but nodded tiredly.

“Yeah, you're right. You never know who might be listening, these days.”

He rolled his shoulders, trying to shift the heavy feeling weighing him down.

“I’ll check the area.” He said simply, “I want to see what I can find.”

The area was barely that. It was a cramped little spit of concrete by the docks, sandwiched in between two warehouses in varying stages of disrepair.

It wasn’t well lit and had little foot traffic save for the people who worked on the docks during the day, and likely a few transients who used it to take shelter from the rain.

It was secluded, private and labyrinthine.

No wonder the perpetrator hadn’t been found.

This was body number seven, and it was getting harder and harder to keep it from spilling into the press and causing a panic.

It wouldn’t matter that all the victims had been higher up members of the same gang, the papers would turn it into a national panic and his job would get a thousand times more difficult.

Malavai inspected the windows, grimy and half broken from years of use.

Nothing.

He didn’t expect to find much.

This was _professional_.

This was someone who had _practice_.

Annoyed, he clenched his fists.

He was always one step behind.

* * *

“Detective Quinn? We found something.”

Malavai's heart quickened, and he breathed in a sharp breath of overly conditioned air.

He didn’t even remove his coat or set down his coffee, instead making a beeline to his colleague.

Talos was in the forensics team, and the excitable man was a great help to any investigation he was assigned to.

“What do you have?” Malavai asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

He had barely gotten any sleep the previous night, too busy pouring over reports and evidence photos.

Talos bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, excited.

“The CCTV feeds for the docks weren’t operational the night of the murder,” he explained, and Malavai fought not to mutter ‘of _course_ they weren’t’ under his breath.

Talos walked him over to the suite he seemed to have commandeered, and Malavai almost had to jog to keep up with him.

“But! One of the warehouses had an old system installed, barely better than a VHS.” The technician grinned, energetic. “It was off the main system, and it _caught_ something.”

Malavai felt electrified.

He had been working this case for the better part of three months, and of the seven victims they had found, they had barely enough evidence to fill his coffee mug.

The current theory around the bullpen was that it was a gang war, but Malavai disagreed.

It hadn’t made him any friends, but he had pointed out that gang wars tended to be a little less surgical in their precision, less uniform in their MO.

Besides, there had only been victims from one group, which didn’t fit the pattern.

No, someone was targeting these people deliberately.

He just didn’t know who.

Or why.

Or even how, really.

He peered at the screen Talos was showing him, taking him through the video grainy frame by grainy frame.

The camera was one that appeared to pan from side to side, and the entrance to the alleyway was just coming into view.

A figure, barely a dark smudge on the greyscale screen, exited the alleyway, shoulders hunched and walking quickly. They looked to be wearing a hood over their head, and a dark jacket and jeans, as far as Malavai could tell.

The figure looked both ways to cross the deserted space, hopping deftly over the rusty, disused tracks set into the concrete.

They hurried away, and out of the view of the camera.

Malavai blew out a breath through pursed lips.

“That's... something.” He muttered; eyes still fixed on the screen.

Talos nodded, pleased.

“I'll look into clearing the footage up a bit if I can,” he assured.

Malavai nodded, his mind settling into place around him.

“Perfect, thanks.” He said, thinking. “I’ve got a few people to talk to on my list for today.”

Bidding Talos goodbye, he headed for his own desk.

It was immaculate as usual, perfectly filed reports and a plain pot of pens on the surface, as well as a single potted plant.

He had a few people to talk to, and he was feeling optimistic after Talos' discovery.

A camera clip wasn’t much, but it was certainly more than they had managed to find so far.

He had contacts to talk to, and a hunch.

It was enough.

* * *

Malavai rubbed at his eyes, not daring to look at the clock.

It was far, far too late to still be in the office. The cleaners had long since been and gone, and the night shift were accustomed to his presence enough that they barely seemed to notice him.

Malavai was aware he was prone to obsession.

He had a hyperfixation problem, and while that could be useful for his work, it did cause a few issues when he didn’t take steps to mitigate it.

He yawned.

Seven victims, and the only thing linking them together was that they were all high-ranking members of the same gang.

Someone with a grudge, perhaps? A rival gang, looking to take out the competition?

He sighed.

His contacts had been useless, not even one willing to talk.

He had one left to talk to, and Malavai had been hopeful before he found out that he now resided in prison.

Malavai would pay him a visit tomorrow.

For now, he had a report to sift through.

He stretched and winced as his back popped.

He would crack this and find out who was responsible.

He knew it.

* * *

Malavai settled into the uncomfortable chair, flicking through his notebook.

Alain Rathari was a huge man, and his prison jumpsuit didn’t detract from that.

He was smiling faintly, his eyes unnervingly fixed on Malavai.

Malavai stared right back.

“Alain,” he greeted, tone neutral.

Rathari smiled.

“Detective. I must say, it’s nice to see a friendly face.”

Malavai thought that might have been going a little far, but he stayed quiet.

“I assume you’ve heard about recent events?” he prompted, and Rathari’s smile widened. The tattoos on his face warped with the action, and the scars twisted them further.

The gang member nodded.

“Oh yes,” he murmured, eyes bright. He seemed to be relishing the thought. “Quite the interesting times we’re in, don’t you think?”

Malavai nodded carefully.

“Seven victims, and I get the feeling they’re not going to stop any time soon.” He admitted, “I’m looking for who did it.”

There.

Blunt and to the point. Rathari always appreciated that.

The big man grinned and leaned back in his chair. The cuffs made a metallic noise as they shifted.

“Of course it would be you,” he chuckled, “What have you found so far?”

Malavai tilted his head.

“CCTV footage.” He answered simply and watched Rathari’s eyes narrow.

Of course, the footage in question was dark and barely useable, but Rathari didn’t need to know that.

Rathari shrugged.

“Good for you.” He smiled. “Sounds like you don’t really need me.”

Malavai shook his head.

“I just wanted to ask a few questions.” He murmured. “In exchange for answers, maybe I could do something to make your stay a little more comfortable?”

Interest danced across that tattooed face.

“Such as?”

Malavai shrugged.

“A better job, maybe? How would you like the kitchen?”

Rathari liked to cook. He remembered that from when he had been outside. Their conversations had been more civil, then.

The prisoner was guarded, but receptive.

“Perhaps.” He grunted. “Depends what you want to know.”

“Why is someone targeting your gang?”

Rathari laughed, but it was an aggressive sound.

“They’re not mine anymore.” He bit out.

Malavai felt on the back foot. What on earth had happened while he had been working on other things?

“Why?”

Rathari eyed him, and the feeling was invasive.

“Professional disagreements.”

Well, alright then.

Malavai knew when not to push.

“Fair enough. So, it sounds like you don’t have any reason to protect them. Why is someone targeting them?”

He grinned, emotions switching track faster than Malavai could follow.

“They fucked up.”

Malavai narrowed his eyes. Finally, they were getting somewhere.

“How?”

Rathari shook his head, amused.

“You don’t beat your favourite dog, you know?” he murmured. “Eventually it’ll snap and bite you.”

A thrill bloomed in his chest and sent fire through his veins. Finally, this was _something_.

“So, someone inside had a disagreement, and now it’s revenge?”

Rathari grinned, sinister and too wide.

“Revenge? Yeah, I guess it is. That just sounds so…. So petty, you know? This is more than that. This isn’t hitting back ‘cause you’re pissed off. There’s a storm coming, and The Hand were the ones to call it down.”

Malavai’s heart beat hard against his chest, and he forced himself to breathe.

“Who?”

Rathari smiled and shook his head.

“I can’t tell you that, detective.” He said, sounding vaguely apologetic. “I don’t know any names.”

“Are you sure? You don’t fancy your own cell?”

Rathari shook his head again.

“No, I like my cellmate. He’s teaching me how to play chess.” He said with a smile. “I assume I’ll start in the kitchen soon?”

Malavai leaned back in his chair, feeling drained and buzzed at the same time.

“I’ll get it sorted.” He murmured, standing up and pressing the buzzer for the guards to come back and return Rathari to his cell.

The big man was led away, and Malavai watched him go.

He paused at he reached the door and looked back at Malavai.

“Good luck, detective.” He bid with a smile and let himself be led away.

Malavai swallowed around the lump in his throat and turned to leave.

He had work to do.

* * *

Now he knew what to ask for, information came in drips and drops.

_“Word on the street says The Hand have fucked with the wrong person.”_

_“I heard The Hand are panicking.”_

_“The big guy must be shitting his fuckin’ pants right now.”_

_“I’d stay away from them if I were you. Don’t want to see you found with your throat cut.”_

Malavai sighed as he slumped in his chair, his eyes aching and a stabbing pain in his head.

“You look terrible.”

He jerked himself up, only to see Jaesa standing over him with a concerned expression.

He sighed, giving her a weary smile.

“Thanks.”

She chuckled and set down a mug of something steaming in front of him. Tea, it seemed like.

“You’re burning yourself out,” she murmured, disapproving. “You need to sleep.”

He shrugged, stretching, and wincing as his back popped.

“I have too much to do.” He murmured. “I don’t want to miss anything.”

Jaesa sighed and settled down in the chair next to him.

“You’re doing to kill yourself like this,” she said sternly, “And then who will be working on this case? _Pierce?_ ”

Malavai wrinkled his nose.

“Exactly.” She stressed. “Talk it over with me, and then _go home._ ”

He blinked.

“You want to talk it over with me?”

She nodded, tucking a stand of hair behind her ear.

“If you think it’ll help, then yes.” She smiled. “I like bouncing ideas off people personally, so I thought it might help you too.”

Touched, Malavai smiled at her.

She was a skilled detective in her own right, and a qualified psychologist on top of that.

It also helped that she was _stunning_ and could take down a suspect three times her size in seconds. Jaesa was _not_ to be messed with.

“Alright.” He agreed, feeling better. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” she demurred. “You’ve helped me more than enough times. So, let’s start at the beginning.”

As he talked through what he had found, piecing the scraps and chunks of information here and there to form an incomplete map, he found himself reordering certain things or taking seconds looks at previously dismissed details.

“So,” he murmured at the end. “Someone within The Hand had some kind of falling out or disagreement with the organisation, bad enough that they are now hunting down and murdering the members.”

“Only the high-level ones, so far. They’ve been getting lieutenants so far, but as far as we know there’s only five Captains. Five fingers.” Jaesa pointed out, and Malavai nodded.

“Yes. So, we have motive. Until we get the details back from forensics, I think the next step should be to see if I can figure out who ended up on the wrong side of The Hand.”

Jaesa nodded, smiling tiredly.

“I think that’s a good place to start,” she agreed. “For now though, you’re going to _bed.”_

He wanted to protest, seeing that he finally felt like he had a direction to go in, but Jaesa’s stern expression told him that arguing would only make them both angry.

He sighed and put his laptop to sleep.

“Fine. I’m coming in early tomorrow, though.” He warned, and she laughed.

“As if I could stop you.” She said fondly.

“Goodnight, Malavai.”

* * *

Malavai had always been a hard worker.

He was dogged and relentless, but even he was tired of sifting through cross-references. The database was huge, and The Hand was a big enough organisation that its members numbered in the hundreds, if not thousands.

Still, Malavai had information to feed into the model, and four hours of eye straining work later, he had a list of potentials that had once been members of The Hand, but appeared to have broken away from the group.

Seven suspects.

Three were already incarcerated for various crimes, so he put them aside.

That left him with four.

The first had been missing for over a year, but Malavai knew that didn’t necessarily mean that she was out of the running. It was more likely though, that they simply hadn’t found her body yet.

The second had been out of prison for two years and had been running community outreach before he had turned up face down in the river.

The third had turned informant and had been in witness protection until he had seemingly killed himself.

The fourth had little data on his activities after he broke from the group.

That was strange.

Malavai dug a little deeper.

“Aggravated assault, handling of stolen goods, kidnapping, multiple counts of possession of firearms and weapons, trespassing, aggravated arson, multiple counts of homicide- the list goes on.” He murmured. “Who _is_ this guy?”

He scrolled back up, and his eyes met with those of the mugshot.

The man was smiling slightly as he stared into the camera, grey eyes almost laughing. Stark black tattoos stood out against bronze skin, curling up over his throat.

“Ven’fir Polaris, former high-ranking member of The Hand before his imprisonment.” He read, mumbling. He checked the sentence and had to look again.

“Jaesa!” he called, heart beating fast. “Take a look at this.”

She obligingly came over, a mug in her hand.

“What?” she asked, peering at his screen curiously. “You found a guy?”

Malavai pointed to the screen.

“How the hell did someone like _that_ manage to walk after only four years?” he demanded.

Jaesa’s mouth thinned as she read further.

“Look,” she muttered, grim. She pointed to another section. “He had a _really_ good lawyer. Avior Nox. They call him The Inquisitor, I believe.”

Malavai stared.

“Good behaviour.” He read off the screen. “You’re kidding me. I assume Nox is crooked?”

She frowned. “As they come. He’s on the mob payroll, that’s for sure. He’s not Family, but he’ll represent damn near anyone with the money to afford him.”

She tutted, disgusted. “ _Multiple_ counts of homicide? He spent four years inside and was, by all accounts, a model prisoner.” She breathed. “He was found to have little to no chance of reoffending, as his previous offences were carried out under the employ of a criminal organisation that he is no longer a part of.”

Malavai leaned back in his chair, floored.

“Do we know where he is now?” he asked, sitting back up and tapping a few keys. “Last known address…. That’s still in the city.”

Jaesa frowned.

“This is mad. This guy was up to his neck in the mob, and now he’s just getting on with his life? There’s no way this should have passed in the courts. What did he do to get a free pass?”

Malavai looked grim.

“Well, I think I’ll ask him.”

* * *

Malavai was starting to wonder if Polaris was even home.

He rang the buzzer yet again, and there was no response.

The apartment was a fancy one, all brushed steel and glass.

He glowered at the buzzer, as though it was responsible for it all.

“Hello?”

He blinked, realising that finally, there was someone on the other end.

“I’m detective Quinn, am I speaking to Ven’fir Polaris?” he asked.

A pause.

“You are.”

“May I come up, Mr. Polaris? I have some questions for you.”

“Of course, detective. Let me buzz you in.”

There was a pause before the door buzzed and Malavai heard the lock disengaging, and he pulled it open.

He took the lift, a feeling of heaviness settling in his belly as he watched the numbers count higher and higher.

The doors opened, and he stepped out into a lobby.

It was classy and fancy, elegance and modernism creating a pleasant atmosphere.

“Detective.”

He glanced to the side where someone was standing, waiting for him.

He swallowed, suddenly very aware of what he was doing. He was so close.

Ven’fir Polaris was a man with a _presence_.

He was tall and solid, his clothes fitting him a little too closely to be anything but intentional.

Dark curls brushed his shoulders, and his eyes were intense. He looked like he should have been on the front cover of glossy magazine, but the tattoos that curled over his neckline were harsh and black.

Malavai nodded to him, polite.

“Mr Polaris, good afternoon.”

Ven’fir smiled, and it was the kind of smile that sent a shiver down his spine.

“What can I do for you, detective? Would you like to come inside?”

Without waiting for an answer, he opened the door expectantly.

The penthouse was stunning. The living area overlooked the skyline of the city, and the side open spaces were airy and pleasant.

The place cost more than Malavai would earn in a lifetime.

“I have some questions for you.” Malavai repeated, taking out his notebook.

Ven’fir smiled at him, heading for the open kitchen. Pots and pans hung on a rack over a central island, and he made for the large fridge in the corner.

“Want a drink?”

“No, thank you.”

He shrugged, helping himself to a glass of something sparkling.

“Well then detective, what did you want to know? I’m always happy to help the police.” He said with a smile, and Malavai was more and more sure that something very off about him.

“I want to talk about your former organisation, The Hand.” He broached, careful.

Ven’fir’s nose scrunched up as he made a disgusted expression.

“If we must.” He muttered, sighing.

Malavai raised an eyebrow.

“You left the group, yes?”

Ven’fir shrugged. “I did. I didn’t want to be part of that anymore.”

“Why the change of heart? The list of crimes you committed for them is extensive.”

The taller man gave him a little grin.

“You’ve been reading up on me, detective.” He murmured, and unless Malavai was mistaken, there was a little bit of a purr there.

He blinked, surprised. Ven’fir’s grin widened.

“I don’t blame you, of course.” He continued, “I have a... colourful past.”

He shrugged.

“Professional differences.” He demurred, and Malavai was struck by that phrase.

That had been said by someone else.

Rathari.

The connection made him almost buzz with interest, but instead he made a small note on his paper.

“You spent four years in prison.” He prompted, and Ven’fir nodded.

“I did. I dedicated myself to turning my life around.” He explained genteelly. “The Hand was a mistake, and I wanted to prove to myself that I didn’t need them.”

Malavai nodded, taking notes. He was sure it was a lie.

“Do you have any contact with any of your former… colleagues?” he asked, and Ven’fir chuckled.

“No. As if any of them would speak to me now. I’d sooner end up with my throat cut than have a friendly conversation.”

Malavai looked up sharply.

“Why do you say that?” he asked quickly, and Ven’fir tilted his head.

Throat cut.

That couldn’t have been a coincidence.

“I _left_ , detective.” Ven’fir stressed. “One doesn’t leave The Hand, not unless it’s in a body bag.”

His mind going back to his short list of suspects and the grisly ends some of them had already come to, Malavai felt that was true.

“Do you know anyone who might have a grudge against The Hand?” he asked, and Ven’fir laughed.

“How about the whole city?” he asked, amused. “The Hand doesn’t play by any of the old rules. The Families hate them, the police can’t handle them, and their own people are terrified of them.” He shook his head. “Baras doesn’t play. Ever.”

Baras.

The boss.

Malavai knew the name.

“You knew him?”

Ven’fir’s smile was thin.

“I did. He considered me his son.”

Malavai frowned. “That wasn’t in your file.”

Ven’fir shrugged, eyes shining.

“I never kept it secret. You’ve got a shit file.”

Malavai frowned, but before he could speak, the other man grinned at him. Malavai felt pinned, and he didn’t like the feeling.

“You asking for something in particular, detective?” he murmured, putting his glass down and stepping closer. “It sounds like something might have happened.”

Malavai pinned him with a glare.

“That’s confidential.”

Ven’fir smiled, stepping closer again.

“If you say so.” He murmured. “It wouldn’t be something to do with the seven bodies you’ve found so far, would it?” At Malavai’s sudden look, he shook his head. “You’ve not read this morning’s papers, have you?”

Horrified, Malavai realised that no, he had not.

He had come in so early that he had missed them, working through the morning. It had only been a matter of time before the press found out.

Shaken and hating it, Malavai fired a few more questions at him, getting only vague and somewhat teasing answers back. He was flirting, Malavai was sure of it.

It was off putting.

Ven’fir was standing quite close now, and Malavai couldn’t move any further back without hitting the kitchen island.

“So, detective,” he murmured, watching Malavai from under his lashes. “Did you get what you came for?”

Malavai swallowed.

Ven’fir smiled, serene.

“Or did you want to stay a little longer? Maybe you can get something more out of me.”

He was close enough to touch.

There was a strange energy about him, like he was charged with something manic and electric.

Malavai caught the scent of something warm and spicy, and it went to his head.

He ran his tongue over his lip without thinking about it, watching as Ven’firs eye followed the action with a smile.

He was about the speak when his own gaze noticed something under the high neck of the other man’s clothing.

A scar.

Long, thin, and subtle.

If he hadn’t been so close, he wouldn’t have seen it.

“How did you get that scar?” he asked, blurting out the question before he had thought about it.

Ven’fir went very still.

“Old wound.” He murmured, suddenly guarded.

Malavai pressed his advantage.

“From when you tried to leave The Hand?” he asked, tilting his head. Ven’fir’s eyes were dark and intense, their grey looking hard as the slate their colour reminded him of.

“Perhaps.” He tried to deflect. “Does it matter?”

“I think it does.”

“It’s an uncomfortable topic, detective.”

“Will you answer the question?”

“No.”

Ven’fir’s smile widened, and suddenly he wasn’t so jovial anymore.

“I think it’s time for you to go, detective.” He said lowly, crowding Malavai so he headed for the door.

For once, Malavai was happy to drop it and go. He was feeling claustrophobic and his head was swimming.

Ven’fir watched him as he stood outside the door to the penthouse.

“After all,” he began with a sharp little smile that was probably supposed to be pleasant, “You’ve got a busy day ahead of you.”

The door closed in Malavai’s face, and he released the breath he didn’t remember holding.

His hands were trembling, and adrenaline made his vision swim.

He breathed out, nice and slow.

He couldn’t help the foreboding feeling creeping up his spine.

The words bounced around his head as he headed back to the station,

_You’ve got a busy day ahead of you._

What did that mean, if anything?

He wasn’t sure.

Malavai finally made it back through the traffic and walked into pandemonium.

“What’s going on?” he asked, finding Jeasa in the mess.

She looked bleak.

“They found more bodies.” She said, expression dark.

Malavai’s eyes widened.

“ _Bodies_?” he repeated. “More than one?”

“Three. A civilian called in about a smell coming from a construction site.” She muttered, her face drawn and grim.

Malavai felt his stomach drop.

_You’ve got a busy day ahead of you._

* * *

By the time Malavai stumbled back home, he was half unconscious already.

Visions of the bodies, chained up and throats rent open, swam in front of his eyes.

A shark smile on a handsome face, a half-hidden scar on a tattooed throat and intense, fiery grey eyes.

Malavai couldn’t sleep, even with how exhausted he was.

Ven’fir Polaris was guilty, and he knew it.

But now Polaris _knew_ that he knew.

There just wasn’t any evidence.

The bodies at the site had been brutalised, but the IDs had come back on them quickly.

Their rings had not been removed, left as a macabre warning.

These men were three of the five fingers of The Hand.

Two more left to go.

Then Baras.

He couldn’t sleep.

His eyes hurt and his stomach ached from where he had stayed tense.

The smell of blood and decay seemed to linger, even after he had scrubbed himself raw.

He lay in bed, door firmly closed and laughing grey eyes on his mind.

* * *

Someone had to know.

Someone had to talk.

They _had_ to.

* * *

“Quinn.”

Malavai looked up, running at his eyes.

“Talos?” he murmured, the diminutive figure of the technician standing in front of his desk.

Talos looked concerned.

“Are you quite alright?” he asked, worried. “Without meaning offence, you look awful.”

Malavai grunted, levering himself up with aching knees.

“I’m fine.” He muttered. “What do you have for me?”

Talos looked like he didn’t believe him but handed him the file anyway.

Malavai opened it, and blinked.

“Is this what I think it is?”

Talos gave him a grin.

“It is. Tox report came back negative, but we got a partial print off one of the watch from number eight.”

Malavai swallowed hard.

“ID?”

“Not who you think.” Talos murmured, eyeing him. “A thug that goes by the name ‘Broonmark’. He’s in the system for possession and assault under the name Malthe Sogard. He’s tied to The Hand.”

Malavai nodded, gripping the report hard enough to crease it.

“Can we pick him up?” he asked, eager.

Talos nodded.

“Last known address is in the outskirts.”

Malavai thanked him and was already gone.

Two officers joined him as they headed for Broonmark’s last known address.

It was easy enough to find, a run-down area of the suburbs where cars seemed more likely to end up on bricks than ever run again.

Malavai knocked on the door, noting the peeling paint and the soiled mattress in what was supposed to be a front garden.

Ratty curtains hung in the windows, blocking a view from the inside.

No answer.

Malavai frowned and knocked again.

Nothing.

“Check around the back,” he murmured to the officers, who did as they were told.

He peered in through the grubby little window that was only half covered by a cloth and tried to make out what was inside.

It was dark, and it was hard to make out anything except abstract shapes in the gloom.

He paused.

That was a noise.

He could have sworn he heard-

The sound of breaking glass made him jump, and his heart flew into his mouth.

“Open up!” he yelled, trying the door handle. “Police!”

Sounds of a scuffle inside could be heard, and then the sound of someone cursing.

Hoping the officers were responding to his shout, Malavai put his shoulder to the door.

He had probable cause to suspect that someone inside could be in danger, so he threw himself against the door with all the strength he could muster.

The door gave an audible crack but stayed in place.

Tension making his heart race, Malavai did it again.

The door, old and half rotten, fell inwards and he stumbled forwards. Righting himself, he rushed towards the sounds of the scuffle. The house was small, but filled with trash and other detritus, making it extremely hard to get anywhere quickly.

A strangled, cut off noise directed him towards the back of the house, and he hurried. Dimly, he realised that he could hear the officers shouting, and he forged on.

He burst into what looked like a kitchen if it hadn’t been completely ruined.

A mattress lay on the floor and trash covered every surface.

One door was open, swinging back and forward from the force that it had been opened with.

A strangled gasp drew his attention to the floor, where a man was lying there and gasping for breath.

Malavai rushed over to him, landing painfully on his knees as he went to help.

The man was gasping for air, scrabbling at a wound in his torso.

Blood coated his hands and was spreading onto the yellowing linoleum around him.

The man was older, and his face was half obscured by a carpet of white hair and large beard. His eyes were wide and rolling in his skull, his hands frantically moving to try and stop the bleeding.

“Ambulance!” Malavai shouted, hoping one of the officers would hear him. “Call an ambulance!”

He was a qualified first aider himself, but this wasn’t something he could fix.

He grabbed a ratty, grimy tea towel from a counter and held it firmly over the wound.

“Keep breathing,” he ordered the man, “Nice and steady. Ambulance is on its way.”

He hoped the ambulance was on its way.

“Fuckin’ bastard.” The man spat; lips drawn back over yellowed teeth.

“Who did this?” Malavai pressed, desperate. “Broonmark, yes? Who did this to you?”

Broonmark snarled and coughed.

“The Wrath.” He wheezed, clutching at Malavai’s hand where it was futilely trying to stem to flow of blood.

Malavai strained to hear him.

“The Wrath.” He repeated, his voice a pained rattle. “I ratted him out, the little fuck. Baras offered me more.”

His grip was vice like.

“He’s gonna take the last Captains, tonight. You hear? Docks. He’s- he-“

“Stay with me!” Malavai ordered, half shouting. He couldn’t let this slip away. Not now.

Broonmark’s movements slowed and became sluggish, and Malavai pressed harder on the wound to try and stop it.

“Ambulance!” he bellowed, to no avail.

Broonmark’s hold on him went lax, and he stopped breathing, his barrel chest falling still.

Malavai was left with blood soaking his knees and splashed over his hands, staring at the body.

His lungs burned and his every nerve ending was tingling. His mind moved sluggishly, trying to process the previous few moments.

The door opened and in burst one of the officers, looking harried.

“Sir! There was a man-“

Malavai turned on him and saw him flinch.

“Where _were_ you?” he snarled, and the officer swallowed, eyes flickering to the body and back.

“I… we saw a person running for it.” He said, voice small. “But we couldn’t catch them. I think it was a man. Is- is he _dead_?”

Malavai stood, sighing. Adrenaline pumped through his system, and he used it.

“Yes. Stab wound, as far as I can see.” He murmured, peering at the body. “Call the ambulance and get forensics over here. We interrupted this, so hopefully our killer left some evidence.”

The officer hesitated, and Malavai glared at him.

“Now!” he snapped, and the officer hurried to leave and do as he was told. The other officer was seemingly securing the perimeter, and Malavai sighed.

What a fucking mess.

* * *

“Quinn? We have something for you.”

Malavai swore that he would get Talos something nice after this. He had just finished getting changed, after he had assured the ambulance crews that he wasn’t in shock or needed any medical attention. They gave him odd looks as he scribbled in his notebook, and Malavai was dimly aware that he should probably have been traumatised by a man dying in his arms.

Malavai brushed it off.

“Did you get anything from the house?”

Talos grinned, pleased with himself.

Malavai had never seen him anything less than perfectly cheery.

“We did. Look at this.”

He passed over a report, and Malavai opened it, heart in his mouth.

He scanned it, his eyes devouring every word.

“You cracked his phone. Broonmark betrayed the Wrath.” He murmured, putting it together. “He helped him with the previous murders because he was paid, but Baras found out and offered him more. When he accepted, the Wrath killed him. That’s how the Wrath kept it so clean. He had help.”

He blew out a breath, eyes wide.

Every scrap he got gave him a glimpse at the bigger picture.

Talos nodded.

“His phone was possibly the least secure device I’ve ever seen.” He scoffed. “His password was 1234.”

Malavai ignored that.

“He mentioned the docks to me before he died. I reported it and we’re mobilising to move. We go in and stake it out and see if we can’t catch him.”

Talos gave him a look.

“You’re sure it’s a man? It sounds like you already have a suspect in mind.”

Malavai shook his head.

“The officers with me this morning saw a man running from the scene, and we can assume that it was the Wrath based on what we’ve found.” He corrected.

Talos nodded slowly.

“Jaesa tells me that you’ve been looking up Polaris again.” He said sternly, and Malavai frowned.

He _had_ been reviewing the file earlier. It was hard not to.

“She told you that?”

Talos shrugged.

“She’s worried for you. You’re not sleeping, you’re barely eating. You’re obsessing over this guy.”

Malavai couldn’t hold a scowl.

“He needs to be caught.” He stressed.

“I know,” his friend sighed. “But we’re just worried.”

Malavai swallowed hard, trying not to think about a shark smile and grey eyes.

“I’m fine.”

* * *

The docks were not Malavai’s favourite place.

He doubted they were anyone’s.

The police were there in force but hidden. Malavai himself was sitting in his car, lights down and keeping an eye on things.

He assumed there was to be a meeting which would be interrupted by their killer, but he still felt like he didn’t know nearly enough about all this.

There were gaps the size of continents in his evidence web, and he hated it.

Who was the Wrath?

What had The Hand done to them to deserve being hunted like this?

Why did the thought of Ven’fir Polaris refuse to leave him alone?

Even now, alone in his car, he felt his thoughts drifting back to that manic energy that the man had.

It had to be him.

It _had_ to.

Malavai would be the one to catch him.

He sipped his coffee, eyes peeled.

The vigilante wasn’t going to get away. Not this time.

He frowned at himself.

When had he started referring to the Wrath as a vigilante, and not a murderer?

 _When you put a pretty face to the profile_ , his mind whispered.

Annoyed, he took another sip.

His radio crackled, and he was focusing on it in an instant.

“This is one-two, there’s activity by warehouse eight.” Came the slightly muffled words. “Two cars, looks like a meeting.”

Malavai cursed. He was nowhere near eight.

“What can you see?” he asked, “Can you see the Wrath?”

A pause.

“Negative. Not yet.”

Malavai cursed, before replying.

“Understood one-two. Keep watching.”

Heart in his mouth, Malavai kept scanning the gloomy dockland in front of him.

Minutes dragged by.

His radio crackled to life.

“This is one-three, we see someone!”

He snatched up the radio, heart beating fast.

“Location? Is it the Wrath?”

“Warehouse four, I think it’s him!”

Four, that was nearby.

“One-three, converge on warehouse four.” He ordered. “One-two, keep watching that meeting.”

Affirmatives could be heard from the radio, but he was already out of his car and sprinting for warehouse four.

The other officers should be right behind him, but as he approached, he couldn’t see them.

They had been posted close, why weren’t they there yet?

“One-three, what’s your position?” he hissed into his radio.

“Just coming up now,” came the reply, muffled and half indistinguishable.

Malavai dithered for a split second.

“I’m going in.” he muttered. “Cover me when you get here.”

This was a stupid thing to do.

But if he could catch him…

Malavai pushed open one of the old doors, keeping low.

The warehouse was one stocked full of wooden boxes around the edges, neatly stacked and labelled. The centre of the floor was clear save for a parked forklift, and Malavai spotted a catwalk up high.

He crept in.

It was eerily silent inside, not even the faint sound of his breathing making as much noise as it should have.

There was a small layer of dust on some of the boxes, showing that they had been there for a while.

He advanced, his heart beating hard in his chest.

Nothing.

Despite the many boxes, there wasn’t much of a space to hide. They were stacked flush, so that didn’t leave many spots to stow away.

Malavai took out his torch, debating whether to flick it on and give himself some more light.

Instead, he brought his radio up.

“One-three, what’s your position?”

Nothing.

Alarmed, he tried again.

“One-three, _respond_.”

Just the empty hiss of the radio.

“One-two, I’ve lost contact with one-three.”

Silence.

He glanced around. Thick walls. Very thick. They must have been blocking the signal. This was _planned_.

Fear creeping up his spine, Malavai took stock. He should leave.

He should leave _right_ _now._

He turned to head for the door and figure out what the _fuck_ was happening, when he heard a noise.

It was a tiny thing, but he was sure he heard it.

“Who’s there?” he called, switching on his torch.

Nothing.

He swung his torch in an arc, light illuminating the wooden boxes in stark contrast to the gloom around him.

“Show yourself!” he shouted to the darkness, and he forced down the urge to panic.

He turned again, his mind barely having time to process the image of a figure in front of him before a fist hit him in the solar plexus and he collapsed on the concrete, gasping.

It _hurt._

Not giving him time to think, the figure was on him again.

They were bigger than he was, heavier and taller. He struggled and thrashed, using every dirty trick he knew to throw them off.

Nothing worked until he managed to get a low shot in at the throat, sending his assailant jerking back as they coughed.

He scrambled to his feet and, without thinking, threw himself at the recovering figure.

They tussled on the concrete floor, and Malavai wasn’t thinking.

He didn’t have time to.

Something flashed in the gloom, the light from his dropped torch reflecting off a gleaming blade. A knife.

Panic welled in his gut, and he stumbled backwards as the blade sliced the air where he would have been moments ago.

The figure was male and tall, dressed in dark clothes. They had a hood over their face and a jacket thrown over the top, fabric pulled over their face to obscure their identity.

The gloom was oppressive, but Malavai would bet his life that the eyes he was unable to see would be grey.

The figure looked calm, as much as he could see.

He held the knife, and it was so large it was more like a machete, in one hand, the other settling ready to strike.

Malavai was feeling extremely outclassed.

“Give up.” He ordered, his voice hoarse. “These docks are going to be crawling with police. Give yourself up and we can work out-“

The figure moved, and Malavai could only stumble back before he was on him. The blade bit into his cheek and he hurled himself back, hot blood running down his face. The wound was painful and sweat made it sting.

It distracted him enough that he didn’t see the sweep of a leg that took his own feet from under him, sending him crashing to the unforgiving floor.

He felt something snap in his arm, and he couldn’t stifle a scream.

The figure stood over him as he clutched his arm, eyes wide and head ringing from pain.

Malavai was sure, in that moment, that he was going to die.

The figure tilted his head, and the faint reflection of eyes seemed to crinkle as he smiled.

He approached, and Malavai could only manage a pathetic shuffle back before his back hit a crate and he could go no further.

The figure squatted down over him, and a hand reached out to pat his cheek in a fond, condescending manner.

Frozen, Malavai could only hold his breath.

The figure leaned in, and Malavai smelled warmth and spice.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Came a voice that made him shiver, and his eyes blew wide as he recognised it.

He opened his mouth to speak when the elbow struck his temple, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

Reality was painful.

Malavai came to, his head screaming at him and his body refusing to co-operate. He shifted, and his arm sent a spike of pain all the way up and into his brain.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to sit up despite the pain.

He breathed in, and out.

In.

Out.

Breathe.

Control it.

He looked around.

He was still in the warehouse.

He wasn’t dead.

He needed to get out.

_Now._

Summoning whatever reserves of will he had left, he pushed himself up the crate at his back, hearing himself swallow down a cry behind clenched teeth.

His arm was broken, he was sure. The cut on his cheek was deep, and it still seeped blood.

He hadn’t been out long, then.

Holding a breath, he stumbled forwards and towards the door.

His torch was still where he had left it, but a quick check of his belt showed that his radio was gone.

Cursing, he limped towards the door.

The air of the docks was fresh and cold, and the first breath of it blew some of the cobwebs from his brain.

Polaris was here.

He recognised that voice.

He _knew_ he did.

Gritting his teeth, he headed for warehouse eight.

It seemed much further away now. His car was where he had left it, but there was no way he could drive it this condition.

Regretfully, he limped past it.

He didn’t have _time_.

He could patch himself up when he was sure he wasn’t wasting valuable seconds.

Warehouse eight seemed so far away.

It was strangely quiet as he painfully made his way to where he hoped it was.

Two cars were parked outside, and he could see the faint gleam of the squad car one-two should have occupied off to the side. He headed for it.

It was empty, the two officers it should have contained were slumped against the side, unconscious and bound.

He breathed a sigh of relief at finding a pulse at their necks.

The Wrath had been thorough.

One-three was still missing. They had directed him to the warehouse that had been a trap. Why would they have done that?

Unless they hadn’t realised.

But they had been slow to arrive and during his fight with the Wrath, still hadn’t shown up.

Their radio had been strangely muffled and quiet, but Malavai had assumed it was just useless technology.

Perhaps he hadn’t been speaking to one-three at all.

The thought was chilling, but he forged on.

A light was on in warehouse eight, dim and warm toned.

He hurried his steps, trying to stay fast and quiet.

He peeked in through a crack in the door, and his breath caught.

Two men were on their knees, bound and restrained.

Behind them was the figure in black, the machete in his hands. He was moving around them, inspecting them from every angle.

One of them men was spitting curses, and Malavai couldn’t _move_.

“You fuckin’ bastard, you spineless bitch!” one of the men hissed as he struggled. “Baras will kill you for this!”

The figure shrugged, running a thumb over the gleaming blade.

“No, he won’t.” he murmured, and that voice sent electricity racing through him. _Polaris._ “I’ll cut his throat too.”

The other man has his eyes closed, and he seemed to be muttering prayers fast enough that his lips were a blur.

“He’s got the right idea,” the man grinned, and Malavai could _hear_ the smile. “Remember when you put me on _my_ knees and cut _my_ throat? Well, how’s that for poetic justice?”

The angry one raised his head, defiant.

“You should have fuckin’ died.” He spat, and the figure chuckled.

“You should have done a better job killing me.” He breathed, getting close. The angry one clammed up, silent. “You betrayed me, Draagh. I would have done anything for Baras, you know that. You threw me away. You rewarded years of loyalty with a knife to my throat as you pitched my body over the side of that damned boat of his. Well, I hope you’re ready to die for him, like I was.”

Draagh snarled and struggled, and the figure chuckled.

He stepped around behind him and, with a harsh movement, grabbed him by the hair. Malavai made an aborted movement too late as the machete came down and slit Draaghs throat, blood pouring from the wound like a waterfall. He struggled and choked for a moment, his eyes wide and terrified as he gasped for air that wouldn’t come.

The figure held his head up as he died, before relinquishing his grip and letting the head loll back unnaturally the body went limp.

Next to him, the other figure sobbed quietly.

“Chin up, Kendoh.” The figure purred, amused. He gripped the other man by his hair in the same fashion, his bloodstained blade catching the light.

Kendoh sobbed, and Malavai surged forwards.

“Stop.” He ordered, with no idea what he was doing. He wasn’t armed, he had no radio and he was injured.

But he couldn’t do _nothing._

The figure looked up, and those eyes crinkled into a smile.

“Detective.” He greeted, “Just in time to watch the show.”

The blade hovered at the sobbing mans throat, and his eyes were tightly closed. He trembled with fear.

“Don’t.” Malavai warned, or perhaps it was a plea? He wasn’t sure.

The figure, Polaris, just smiled.

“You’re really something, you know? Most people would have given up by now. After all, these men are criminals. They’ve done far worse to more people.”

Malavai swallowed, feeling like he was in a dream. His arm was agony, and his head swam.

“That doesn’t matter.” He said firmly, or as firm as he could attempt. “I can’t let you murder them.”

Polaris shrugged.

“You don’t _let_ me do anything.”

Malavai drew in a breath.

“Please don’t.”

There was a pause.

“You know, if there was anyone that I would consider honouring that request from, it would be you. You’ve impressed me.”

He paused, and what little Malavai could see of his face looked apologetic.

“But I’ve come too far to stop now. One left.”

His arm moved and Malavai lurched forwards with a ‘no!’ coming from his mouth as he watched the metal bite into flesh. Blood flowed down the mans from like a crimson wave, and he began to thrash.

Malavai fell to his knees, his head swimming as he watched.

He had _failed_.

It seemed to take an age for the man to die, and the sounds as he choked and wheezed echoed around the warehouse.

Finally, Polaris let him go and his head sagged back to expose the opened throat.

He carefully wiped his machete and stowed both it and the cloth away on his person.

He glanced to Malavai and sighed.

He walked over, ignoring the bodies. Bending down he gently took Malavai’s chin in one gloved hand, blood smearing his skin from the wet leather. Malavai could have sworn it burned.

“Sorry, darling.” Polaris breathed, and Malavai could only look into grey eyes. “You’re quite brilliant, you know?”

Malavai swallowed, his strength leaving him.

“I’ll never stop hunting you.” He rasped, and Polaris’ eyes crinkled fondly.

“I would hope not.” He murmured, leaning forwards to press a masked kiss to his cheek. He smelled like spices and blood. “You make it all so much more fun. See you, lover.”

He lingered for a moment, before straightening and walking away.

Malavai knelt there clutching his arm, mixed blood seeping into his clothes from the concrete and his body still and stiff, staring at the two bodies.

Sirens and blue lights arrived later; the unconscious officers recovered from both units.

Malavai refused to spend any more time in hospital than he had to, and he was back in the station within a week.

His arm in a sling and a fresh scar on his cheek, his fellow officers avoided making eye contact.

The Wrath had been quiet, but Malavai knew better.

His veins burning with anticipation and something else, he settled down at his desk.

It was time to go to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, then.
> 
> This got a little out of hand.
> 
> I had SO much more I could have written for this but it would have gotten way too convoluted if I had, so I decided to stop here.
> 
> Ven makes a suspiciously good serial killer...


	19. Mafia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ven’fir handles some business and Vette gets herself into trouble of the serious kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations and definitions are at the bottom of the page! :)

Vette was about eighty five percent sure she was going to die.

The people frog marching her through what looked like the blandest, most hotel-lobby looking building had the kind of cool class that gave her the shivers.

When the security wore suits, you knew you were stepping into some shit.

She swallowed, nerves clawing at her belly.

Her hands were free, but she was under no illusion that she was a _guest._

Guests were not usually caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

Or in private server rooms.

The building was so blandly expensive and inoffensive that Vette was convinced it was the headquarters of the mob or something.

They turned a corner, and the goons either side of her kept walking.

“Hey guys? Where are we going?” she asked, her words coming out faster than she would have liked. “Cause it’s way past my bedtime.”

Nothing.

Not even a smile?

Tough nuts to crack, then.

“I need to pee.”

“You’ve got a little something, ahh, left nostril.”

“Do you guys get dental? Because if you don’t then you should strike. Starting now?”

Ugh.

She wasn’t even entirely sure who they were, considering all she had been going on was that there was some juicy data in this depressingly corporate looking office building.

It was there, someone had said they would pay good money for it, so she was stealing it.

Simple.

Except she must have messed up somewhere, because she had barely got into the system before hands were coming down on her shoulders and she was being frog marched away by tweedle dum and tweedle dee.

Vette had absolutely been in worse scrapes than being caught by corporate security, but something about their complete lack of engagement was off putting.

No security was _this_ stony, even ones for snazzy joints like this.

They walked her down a series of corridors that were, just like the rest of this place, screaming ‘tastefully classy’ in aggressively magnolia paint and brass accents.

“This is a mistake!” she whined. “I’m just here doing server maintenance.”

“Quiet.” Left-Goon rumbled, and she was about to capitalise on the one word they had given her to play with before she realise that they were stopping at the end of the corridor.

A boardroom, judging by those double doors.

That was probably a bad sign.

She could hear voices inside, low and masculine.

Left-Goon knocked on the door, keeping his head down respectfully.

She wanted to bolt.

She fidgeted and tried to keep her breathing steady.

Running would do no good right now. She had no idea where she was, or even what floor she was on.

Things could admittedly be better. If she had to, she could try and sweet talk the police after these people had the doughnut patrol turn up to cart her away.

A muffled ‘Enter’ could be heard and Left-Goon opened a door while Right-Goon firmly steered her in.

The room was surprisingly dimly lit for a conference suite, not that she had seen many outside of a movie screen, but considering the lateness of the hour, it fit.

She scanned the room, trying to take in as much as she could. Entrances and exits, windows and hiding spots.

The scene was a strange one, especially for the incongruously bland room they were in.

Immediately her eyes were drawn to a figure with his back to her that seemed to command the attention in the room, and she suddenly felt exceedingly small.

She hated people who made her feel small.

He was standing in front of another man in a chair, who was looking up at the first with an expression of nervous anxiety.

At the sound of the door opening, everyone turned to them, and Vette wanted to melt through the inoffensively patterned carpet tiles.

“Boss?” Left-Goon rumbled, respectful. “We caught a rat.”

The man at the centre of attention turned to face them fully, and Vette had to admit that she was a little intimidated and mildly offended. Rat? Rude.

He was tall and solidly built under his crisp white shirt, the material stretching slightly over his shoulders.

Dark curls brushed over his collar, left slightly unbuttoned to show the stark black lines of a tattoo curling over his neck.

Deep bronze skin was marred by a small scar over his nose, and grey eyes fixed on her with unnerving intensity.

He had features that were almost hawkish in their sharpness, offset by a strong nose and a full mouth that was currently set in a stern line.

“I asked not to be interrupted, Martin.” He said, and Vette was surprised to hear a cut glass accent that sounded like it had gone to boarding school.

Left-Goon, who was apparently called _Martin_ , gave an apologetic tilt of the head.

What kind of self-respecting security thug was called _Martin?_

“Sorry boss,” he said softly. “But we caught her sneaking around the server room. We thought she might have been here with him.”

He nodded towards the man in the chair, whose eyes were as wide as the saucers the boss’ accent must have rested its teacups on.

“There’s been some mistake,” she began, feeling her stomach knot and her words come tumbling out. “I’m just one of the IT technicians. We got a call about the servers not connecting to the VPN.”

Mentally patting herself on the back for that _beautiful_ lie, she drove her point home by plastering a faintly exasperated look on her face, as though she really was tech support on a really late callout. A little flutter of big blue eyes was the icing on the cake.

The boss’ grim expression shifted until he was smiling, but somehow Vette wasn’t reassured in the slightest.

He looked like the kind of guy that would step out of a photoshoot for expensive cologne or fancy booze.

Except... he also sort of reminded her of a shark, somehow.

Lots of teeth in that smile.

“Really?” he murmured, and Vette got the feeling she was in the deepest of shit. “I don’t remember calling anyone.”

She shrugged, playing it like this kind of thing happened all the time.

“Someone did.” She assured. “If you want me gone, that’s fine. I’ll go.”

The smile widened.

“I would prefer it if you stayed.”

She blinked.

Okay, weird response.

“I... If you say so. Is there stuff that needs fixing?” she made a show of looking around. “Need me to restore a forgotten password or turn something off and on again?”

He chuckled, a hearty sound.

“No, I think we're all covered.” He smiled and tilted his head.

“Are you here with him?” he asked, nodding to the man in the chair. He looked like a businessman, but the _normal_ sort, not whatever these people were.

He was balding and his skin was damp with perspiration, and he was gripping the arms of his chair with enough force to turn his knuckles white.

“No.” she answered honestly, hoping this wasn’t a test. What if this guy was some nerd she should have known if she was IT?

Those grey eyes stared at her for a moment and she fought the urge to squirm. Instead, she scowled at him.

Pervert.

His smile widened by a few molars, and he shook his head, amused.

“Keep her quiet,” he said as he turned away, and it took her a second to realise he was talking Martin and Right-Goon. “I’ll deal with her in a moment.”

Vette didn’t like the idea of being _dealt with_.

She watched him lean against the long wooden table, his posture relaxed and loose.

Whoever he was, he knew how to work a room, she would give him that.

“Mr Langford. David. Can I call you David?”

‘David' opened his mouth but was cut off.

“Lovely. Do you know what I really can’t stand, David? When people lie to me.” He murmured, and Vette watched in fascination. “It's so... unnecessary. So _condescending_. I wonder if they think I won’t find out the truth? I always do.”

He leaned in, a smile on his face and embers burning in his eyes.

“I bet that annoys you too, doesn’t it, being _lied to?_ ”

Langford looked like he was trapped in a cage with a hungry tiger.

The prickling of something at her spine told her that perhaps this strange situation wasn’t what she might have thought.

After all, people didn’t sit there like they were about to bolt while their boss was talking to them.

Or Vette assumed they didn’t. Having never worked in an office, she couldn’t say for certain.

Langford, a balding, middle aged man with an ill-fitting suit, trembled.

A bead of perspiration clung to the end of his nose.

“I'm _sorry-_ “

The boss laughed and Langford looked startled.

“I'm sure you are,” the taller man smiled, amused. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you lied to me, does it _serpente_?”

The word sounded Italian to Vette’s ears, and it was obvious what it meant.

Langford crumpled at it, pleading.

Vette felt uncomfortable.

Bored, the boss sighed and, with a crack like a whip, backhanded Langford so hard his head snapped to the side and he almost fell from his chair.

Vette jumped at the sudden violence, her heart beating fast.

Oh, what had she _done?_

The boss’ expression was bored cruelty.

“I don’t speak much Italian,” he murmured. “Do you? Do you thank them in Italian when you take their money?”

Langford gasped out noise that had probably supposed to have been a word.

The tall man adjusted his cuffs, held in place with shining golden cufflinks. Vette could see the solidness of his back move as he rolled his shoulders.

“The _Camorra_ will pay for this,” he said, as though he had just decided something. “It’s expected. I just want to know which family put you up to it.”

Langford looked up, pleading.

“I- I’m sorry-“ he sobbed. “I don’t know. They- they just said I would need to tell them small things, things about you. I didn’t- I didn’t think it was that bad. I didn’t-“

“That’s right, you didn’t _think_.” The boss murmured. “But David, I believe you.”

He smiled, and Vette almost thought him trying to be kind. He leaned over, almost parental in his reassurance.

“I think you’ve finally told me the truth. You don’t know the family who hired you.”

Langford sagged in his chair, heaving in deep breaths.

“Oh, _thank_ you- _thank you_ -“

A phone rang.

It was such an innocuous sound to cut through the atmosphere of the room, it made Vette jump.

She was getting the feeling she wasn’t going to be handed to the police.

The boss took a considering glance at Langford and slipped a hand into the pocket of his tailored suit trousers, fishing out a slab of black glass that passed for a phone.

He answered it, a small smile on his face.

“You found him, _dorogoy_?”

A pause, and Vette tried to figure out the use of Russian. Sprinkled into his English, it sounded strangely fluid.

“As if I would ever doubt you. Bring him up. Eighteenth floor, suite nine. Thanks. _Do skorogo_.”

He ended the call and slipped his phone back into his pocket.

He gave Langford a little smile.

“You’re in luck, David.” He assured, and Vette privately agreed when Langford looked concerned.

“You’ll be seeing another friendly face.”

What colour there was left in that face drained, and Langford could only stare in mute horror.

Vette wanted to be _gone._

She had nothing to do with this.

The boss sidled over, and her breath caught in her throat. He smiled at her.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting,” he murmured, friendly. “May I know your name?”

She swallowed.

“Mary.”

The boss’ smile widened again.

“You don’t look like a Mary.”

She scowled, and she always had terrible luck with people who could make things difficult for her.

“Yeah well, you don’t look like a… whatever your name is.”

Nice one Vette. Real smooth.

He laughed, and it was a bark of a sound.

“You can call me Ven’fir.” He said, amused. “Or boss, if we want to keep things _professional_.”

She threw him her stoniest glare for that.

Oh, he was pretty, sure.

But he wasn’t pretty enough to get away with _that_.

He chuckled.

“You’re a funny thing,” he murmured. “I can’t decide if I believe you or not.”

She swallowed hard.

“I’m just-“

He waved a hand.

“Not about being a tech, I know that’s a load of shit.” He assured, amused. “I’m just wondering who sent you. The _Camorra_? The Turks _,_ the Irish or _La Cosa Nostra_? Perhaps it was the Serbians or the Albanians?” he murmured; eyes bright. “Or perhaps it wasn’t any of them. Maybe you’re here for the feds, hm?”

Vette swallowed.

She knew some of those names.

This was the fucking _mob._

She’d walked herself right into the arms of the fucking _mafia_ and she was probably going to die for it.

That meant that this pretty-boy, this _magazine cover_ , was a _capo_ , or whatever they called themselves in the Outfit.

He didn’t _look_ Russian.

Really, his features were more Arabic than anything else, and he spoke with the kind of cut-glass accent that Vette heard on clips from the BBC and on old comedy reruns.

“Someone paid me.” She said in a rush, abandoning the lie like a broken hairpin. “I dunno who or why. I don’t, usually. They just say what they want, and I get it for them.”

He studied her, intense. The lines of his tattoos curled up over his collar to sit on his throat.

He was an odd mixture of class and thuggery, she realised.

He was immaculately groomed, and she could smell expensive cologne from here, but those tattoos wouldn’t be seen on the salaryman she had assumed him to be, and his knuckles were raw and skinned.

He hummed, nodding.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Say I believe you. I can’t let you go.”

She wasn’t stupid.

She recognised that a bone was being thrown to her.

“I’ll tell you whatever I know. Some job isn’t worth getting mixed up with the mob or whatever.” She muttered, and he chuckled.

“True.” He murmured, smiling. “You’re incredibly lucky you stumbled on me and not, say, the Turks or the Corsicans.”

“And who are you, then?” she asked, pushing her luck after he still hadn’t killed her or even hit her. “One of the Peaky Blinders?”

He laughed again, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth as he did so. He wore golden rings on his fingers, and Vette wondered how much he was worth in sheer metal. There was a ring on his wedding finger, too. He was married.

“Oh, the accent?” he asked when he was done laughing. “That show has ruined my reputation, I tell you. You’ll never see me in a flat cap. You’re thinking of The Firm, darling.”

She was about to respond with something probably inadvisable when a knock sounded. Ven’fir stepped away from her with a smile and called for them to enter.

The doors opened, and in walked a strange sight.

Four men walked in, although it would be more accurate to say two men dragged a third while the other led.

The two dragging the lump between them were both huge. One was a tank-like redhead with a scowl and very questionable facial hair, and the other was grim looking man with a shock of hair so blonde it was almost white.

They followed a smaller figure, although one that held no less presence.

He was immaculate and slim, not a hair out of place. He was stiff and stone faced, the sharpness of his cheekbones and eyes giving him a faintly avian air that was increased by his slightly haughty expression.

He strode in like he was comfortable, and Vette watched as Ven’fir moved to intercept him.

The man stopped in front of him and gave a small, stiff bow.

He said something in low, fast paced Russian, and Ven’fir chuckled.

“I can see that, Quinn.”

Switching to English, Quinn took in the room.

“You have a guest.” He murmured, eyes landing on Vette. She had expected a Russian accent, but instead his diction was the same cut-glass posh that his employer had, if at a slightly different pitch.

His eyes were very blue, and where his employer was all fire and sparks, he was ice cold.

Ven’fir nodded, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

“We caught her in the server room,” he explained. “She says she was hired anonymously.”

Quinn tilted his head, the action robotic. Ven’fir held up a hand.

“Later. And stop looking at her like that, you'll scare her.”

Quinn frowned minutely and looked away, and Vette let out a breath.

“That's just what my face looks like,” he muttered, and Ven’fir laughed.

Vette was both fascinated and deeply weirded out.

This was the _mob_.

The Russian Outfit if she wasn’t mistaken about the language. Although their accents sounded more like they belonged to The Firm, which didn’t operate much in on this side of the pond. Very strange.

Vette was small time. Street level.

She stole stuff people asked her to because she had never been good at anything else or ever had the chance to learn.

Little fish like her knew to stay away from the Outfits.

You didn’t fuck with the mafia.

You just _didn’t_.

Only, it seemed that Vette had.

Still, she wasn’t dead yet nor being beaten to within an inch of her life, so that was a win.

Maybe these people were the nice mafia.

Maybe they dealt in cookies and fairy cakes and butterflies.

She watched grimly as Quinn retreated to there the two gorillas were holding a man between them as if he weighed nothing.

The dark-haired man reached out a leather gloved hand and tilted their captives face up.

He looked a mess.

His skin was bruised blue and purple and his eye was puffy with injury.

His lip was split and there was a cut running from his hairline.

“ _Vai a cagare_.” The man spat, slurring.

Quinn regarded him dispassionately and snapped out a string of Italian that Vette couldn’t understand.

He glanced up.

“He's stubborn,” he said with minute irritation. “And he wants us to ‘fuck off'.”

Ven’fir chuckled and walked over.

With incongruous gentleness, he leaned down and brushed a lock of blood matted hair from his prisoner’s brow.

The man jerked away, scowling as he bared bloodied teeth.

“Don’t touch me, _finocchio_.” He snarled in heavily accented English.

Ven’fir raised an eyebrow.

“Polite, aren’t you?” he murmured, “I’ve killed for less.”

_I've killed._

Not _I've had people killed._

He’d done it himself.

Vette’s shoulder ached with tension.

It seemed like an age since she had been happily going about her business in the sever room, but really it had only been around fifteen minutes.

Ven’fir smiled and straightened, turning back to the horrified Langford.

“I brought you a friend,” the mobster said with brutal cheer. “I think you already know each other, don’t you?”

Langford stared.

Vette stared.

“David says that he doesn’t know what family you're from.” Ven’fir said, his tone conversational. “Or why you wanted to know about me.”

The man restrained let out a mean sounding curse.

“Fucking Russian _bastardo_ ,” the man coughed, “They'll have your head for this.”

Ven’fir smiled.

“No, they won’t.” He assured. “Because while having a member of the Families killed might make people nervous, you won’t tell me who you work for. You could be _anyone._ ”

His smile widened.

“Unless... you tell me who sent you, and why they wanted information about me? I’m not a secretive man, they could have just asked.”

He chuckled at his own joke and the man looked a little off balanced.

“ _Non ti dico niente._ ”

Ven’fir frowned and looked to Quinn, who translated.

“He says that he won’t tell you anything.”

Ven’fir shrugged, stepping back.

“Fair enough. You’ve met Pierce and Broonmark, yes?” he murmured, nodding to his muscle. The redhead gave his captive a shake as he smirked, and the blonde just grunted.

“My dear _boyeviks_ are so good at their work.”

The redhead grinned, and Ven’fir smiled at him.

“And my... what's the Italian word for it? _Consigliere_?” He grinned. “Quinn does an excellent job.”

The man eyed them both.

“They have a name for you,” he said to Quinn, his heavy accent making Vette strain to hear him. “ _Il Maggiordomo_.”

Ven’fir barked out a laugh, and the sound made Vette jump. Quinn looked on, stony.

Ven’fir’s laughter faded to chuckles.

“The Butler? You Italians love your titles.” He smiled. “You have a name for me too, I know. “

The man looked at him warily.

“ _L'ira_.”

“The Wrath.” Ven’fir sighed, pleased. “I like it.”

The man sneered.

“For a _capo_ , you're like a child.”

Ven’fir smirked, wagging a finger. Tattoos peeked from under his cuffs.

“I'm not a _capo_. I’m an _avtorityet_. Same thing, only in Russian.”

He shrugged.

“My father is _Pakhan,_ and he is more particular about these things than I am.”

He sighed, dramatic.

Vette could appreciate his sense of flair if nothing else.

Ven’fir’s eyes glittered.

“The _bratva_ gave me a name too, you know.” He murmured. “The _shestyorka_ , the Associates, call me the _Okhotnik,_ The Hunter.”

The man on the floor's eyes widened, and his face turned horrified.

Vette had no idea what was happening.

“Only two families call me _L'ira_ , and one would never move against the _bratva_. You fucked up.”

Slowly, he reached forwards and gripped the man’s jaw hand enough to make him wince and forced his head up.

“Now tell me, why are the D'Antonio spying on me?”

The man clenched his jaw and stayed quiet. His skin was flush and sweat beaded his brow. His whole body was tense.

His complete opposite, Ven’fir was loose and relaxed, something viciously playful in his expression.

“Aw, he's gone quiet.” He laughed, stepping back. “Hear that, Quinn? He's like a puppy, knowing he pissed on the fucking floor.”

Quinn just regarded the man with a cool expression.

Ven’fir smiled.

“Kill him.”

With not a moment of hesitation, Quinn unholstered a handgun from beneath his immaculately tailored suit jacket, aimed, and fired.

The Italian's head snapped back, and his body went limp, blood spraying from behind his head.

Vette couldn’t help it and screamed.

She clapped her hands over her mouth and tried to keep her body still.

Ven’fir glanced at her, his expression curious.

From behind them, Langford retched.

Ven’fir wrinkled his nose.

“What a mess. Broonmark, take the body and send the D’Antonio's a message.”

The blonde man grunted and began picking up the slumped corpse.

“Pierce? Contact Baras. The _Pakhan_ should be made aware.” He turned to Quinn, who had holstered his gun and stood waiting, as though he hadn’t just killed a man in cold blood.

“Be a dear and deal with Langford, would you?” he asked, and the shivering, balding mess looked petrified. “I trust your judgement.”

Ven’fir smiled at Langford, showing teeth.

“Quinn isn’t a butler, despite his nickname.” He assured, his eyes brushing over his right-hand-man. “But he is awfully good at taking out the trash.”

Eventually, he looked at Vette.

Inexplicably, his expression softened.

“Come, follow me.”

Vette, for once, did as she was told.

Her legs felt like they were made of jelly and she couldn’t take a full breath, but she managed to retain some dignity as she followed him out of the room.

She made sure not to step in the puddle of blood, nor the smear of it that led out.

Ven’fir led her to office only a few doors down.

He sat her in a plush, comfortable chair, and set a plastic cup of water in front of her.

Condensation beaded the outside of the disposable cup.

“Sorry you had to see that.” He said eventually, tone surprisingly honest. “But now I know you weren’t his partner.”

Vette scowled at him.

“I told you I wasn’t.”

He shrugged, elegant.

“You could have been lying. Perhaps you still are, and you're an amazing actress.” He admitted. “But I don’t think so, and I’m usually a good judge of character.”

Gingerly, she reached for the water and downed it.

With a little grin, he took the empty and poured her more from the cooler.

“Who _are_ you people?” She asked, feeling tiny.

He studied her.

“I think you know.”

She frowned.

“I can tell you’re Outfit, but like... specifically.” She corrected. “Who are you?”

He smiled that movie star smile again.

“Ven’fir.” he introduced, “Of the Baras Family.”

Vette hadn’t heard of them. Not that that was surprising for someone who actively avoided this kind of thing.

“You're not Russian.” She blurted out, before realising what she had said. She was going to get herself shot.

Thankfully, he just grinned.

“I am by circumstance, if not by birth. I’m adopted.” He said simply. “I went to boarding school until I was old enough to join the family business.”

He was strangely candid, and she didn’t know why.

Perhaps he was just arrogant.

She eyed him.

“I really don’t know anything.” She murmured, hoping he would believe her. He said he did, but she wasn’t sure. She didn’t need that creepy guy, Quinn, to come in and put a bullet in her head too.

He smiled.

“I said that I believed you. I do.”

She blinked.

“You do?”

He chuckled, leaning back as he lounged against the desk.

“Yeah. I saw the look on your face when I had Quinn kill our guest. Wetwork specialists don’t react like that.” He said gently. “So, you're either the best actress I’ve ever seen, or you're just caught in the middle.”

Vette sighed, and she felt exceedingly small and cold.

“The second one.”

He gave a demure shrug.

“Doesn’t change that you know far too much, now.”

He must have seen the look on her face because he chuckled.

“Don’t worry, I’ll not send Quinn after you just yet.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “He freaks me out.”

Ven’fir smiled, amused.

“He freaks a lot of people out.” He agreed. “Although he's more personable when he's not working.”

“He's your second in command, right?” she asked, trying to get her head around how it worked.

He nodded.

“Not quite a _consigliere_ , but he fills the same role for me.” He nodded. “The _bratva_ isn’t as stratified as the Italian families.”

She swallowed.

“So, what will you do with me? I won’t tell anyone.”

He smiled, and again he reminded her of a particularly toothy shark.

“How long did it take you to get in here?” he asked, suddenly.

She blinked at the apparent non-sequitur.

“Uh, a few hours.” She admitted. “I got the job on Friday, did some planning and then hit it tonight. Tuesday.” She murmured, feeling awkward talking about this to the man she had been planning to steal from. “It took me a while to get in, and your goons picked me up pretty quick in the server room.”

He nodded carefully.

“It took you eight minutes to crack our network.” He said eventually, “And you did it alone.”

She shrugged, uncomfortable.

“Yeah, so? I got caught.”

Vette knew she was good.

She was better than good.

Still, that wasn’t helping her right now.

“You got caught because you were expecting a secure corporate network,” he corrected, “Not a server room with silent alarms and infrared cameras. Yet, you still broke it open like a kid on Easter morning.” He smiled. “That's impressive.”

He paused, looking sly.

“How much were they going to pay you?”

Vette rattled off a figure and was mildly offended when Ven’fir laughed.

“Seriously? That’s _it?_ ”

She scowled.

“That kind of money would pay for my rent and food for a _month.”_ She snapped. “Not everyone can be a rich kid with daddy’s blood money.”

She realised after she had said it that that was _not_ a smart thing to say to a mafioso that she had seen order someone killed not ten minutes before.

He grinned sharply.

“Want to earn a little more than pocket change?” he all but purred. “You're talented and I have a space in my organisation. How would you like to work for me?”

Vette stared at him.

“I’m not Russian.”

He smiled, shaking his head. His eyes were intense.

“Quinn is English, Jaesa is American and Broonmark is Danish. Pierce is from the motherland, but he hides his accent well.” He listed. “It's not usually the done thing, but I’ve always been a bit of a maverick.”

Vette's thoughts were spinning.

“I... you _killed_ someone.”

He looked at her, nonplussed.

“I kill a lot of people.” He admitted. “Not usually civilians. Bad for business to be offing your customers.” He grinned. “You might have to, if you accept my offer. But you're more valuable to me as a tech specialist than one of my Fixers. Besides, someone set you up tonight." He said, eyes bright. "I can help you find them, and make them pay."

She swallowed.

She didn’t have clean hands. She knew she didn’t.

Still, this was... callous.

Cold.

Business.

She squirmed, and Ven’fir continued.

“Of course, if you accepted my offer then you would not work for anyone else. You would be working solely for me and the _bratva_. You would enjoy the protection that offers, but you would not be a free agent.” He murmured. “We keep our own close, do you understand? You don’t get to just leave if you’re squeamish. You can retire later, if you wish, but I would hold your contract until then.”

He regarded her intently.

“Think about it.” He said, strangely kind. “I’ll have you put up for the night.”

She moved to protest.

“I have my own place.”

He shook his head, standing up.

He towered over her.

“No. I can’t risk you running to the police, not now. Besides,” he said with a grin. “I'm a very generous host.”

With a pat of her shoulder that made her tense, he left the room.

She sat there in silence.

Her stomach rumbled.

She was hungry.

She hadn’t eaten more than a mouthful of stale crackers which had been all that was in her kitchen.

The money from tonight should have carried her over for another month.

Of course, it seemed more and more likely that she hadn't been expected to return alive.

It was doubtful her anonymous employer would have the money together to pay a dead woman.

She drew in a sharp breath, trying to calm her racing heart.

What was she supposed to do now?

The room had no windows, and only one door. She had seen the security posted outside. She wasn’t going anywhere.

She sat there for a few minutes, drinking ice cold water and compartmentalising.

It helped.

Someone knocked on the door.

Jumping, she blew out a breath.

“Uh, yeah?”

The door opened and in strode Quinn, and Vette felt her heart beat against her chest.

He was slim and neat, his dark hair going silver at his temples and making him seem older than she had originally thought.

Dark stubble clung to his jaw and he fixed navy eyes on her as he entered.

“Mary?” He asked, and Vette realised that she hadn’t given them another name. That might be helpful.

“Yeah?” she managed, watching him.

He was very still, she realised. No wasted movement.

His suit was black and clearly tailored to flatter his figure, the crisp white shirt offset by a dove grey tie. Leather gloves covered his hands, and his expression was cool and detached.

The only bit of colour on him seemed to be his eyes.

“Follow me, please. I will get you to your lodging.” He said stiffly, and Vette gingerly stood.

“Uh, you're Quinn, right?”

He nodded, inclining his head.

“Malavai Quinn,” he murmured. “And you're very lucky indeed.”

He led her out into the corridor, and she stayed as close as she dared.

“Yeah, I know.” She muttered, not feeling very lucky at all.

“Do you?” he asked sharply. “Because if you had stumbled into the territory of any other _avtorityet,_ they would have beaten the truth out of you and left you with a bullet in your head, floating in the river no matter what the answer was.”

Vette swallowed hard.

“But that's not going to happen.” She managed, trying not to sound hopeful.

“Not unless you do something stupid.” he said dryly, “Please don’t. I’ve had a long day.”

“Your boss, the um- _avorty_ \- _avat_ -"

“ _Avtorityet_.” Quinn corrected patiently as they walked. “Just say ‘captain'.”

She nodded quickly.

“Yeah, him. He's... not what I expected.”

Quinn gave a humourless smile.

“A lot of people think that.” He admitted. “They think the Outfit is all fat old men with big cigars and gold teeth, chugging vodka.”

“That isn’t true?”

Quinn gave an elegant shrug.

“Some are. The old guard, I suppose. The new blood does things a bit differently. Except Ven’fir really does like vodka. That bit is true.”

She nodded, staying quiet.

“If... if I said yes,” she began as they entered a shiny elevator that would presumably deposit them on the lower floors. “Would I have to learn Russian?”

Quinn blinked, baffled.

“That's what you're thinking about? Most people might wonder if they would have to get tattoos or kill someone.”

She flushed.

“I’m thinking about that too.” She shot back.

“Yes, learning Russian would be smart.” He answered flatly. “Enough to understand the _pakhan_ when he orders you to do something.”

“The what?”

Quinn's mouth thinned.

“ _Pakhan_ , the boss. The _Don_ , the Italians would call him. That's Ven’fir’s father.”

She nodded.

“Okay. You speak it, then?”

They exited the elevator into a basement carpark, and Vette marvelled at the different between the bland class of the building and the grimy concrete of the car park.

“I’m fluent.” He admitted. “It's useful to be good at languages when every major player likes speaking a different one.”

She snorted.

“They don’t show that in the movies. You speak Italian too, right? I heard earlier.”

He nodded, leading her to a car that looked like it ate other cars for breakfast.

It was a black SUV, windows tinted and menacing.

Vette would have flagged it as a mob vehicle in an instant.

“I’m fluent in Russian, Italian, Japanese, Mandarin and Spanish.” He said flatly, unlocking the car and opening the door for her. Unused to someone being so polite, Vette awkwardly got in. He slipped into the driver’s seat, and buckled himself in. He stared at her pointedly until she did the same. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“You speak _five_ languages?” she asked, surprised.

He shrugged, starting the car. A throaty purr sounded from around them.

“Six, if you count English.” He said with a small, wry smile. “I’m not yet fluent in Arabic though, so I don’t count that.”

She stared at him.

“That's mad.” She muttered. “Why so many?”

He started to drive, his movements easy and precise.

“It's useful." He shrugged. “The major players in organised crime usually speak one of them.”

Vette thought about it.

He saw her face and sighed.

“Russian for the _bratva_ , Italian for the Families, Japanese for the Yakuza, Mandarin for the Triads, and Spanish for the South Americans and Mexicans.” He explained. “Arabic is next.”

He paused.

“Ven’fir is decent with languages, but he can’t be bothered. I translate for him. He can curse in them, but not a lot more.”

Vette chuckled, relaxing into the leather seats.

The car was comfortable and smelled new. A little cardboard tree dangled from the mirror stem.

She sighed, watching as the world went by outside the window.

Somehow, even though nothing had really changed, it all felt different.

“What did you do with Langford?” she asked, not really wanting to know.

Quinn didn’t take his eyes off the road.

“Nothing.”

Vette raised her eyebrows.

Quinn’s brow creased.

“If we put a bullet into everyone who made mistakes, we would not have many people left.” He said dryly. “He's had a scare, and he will be compensating us for the trouble. Otherwise, he is unharmed.”

“You killed that other guy.”

Quinn glanced at her, and she swallowed.

“I did.” He said, flat. “He was _Cammoristi_ who knew what he was doing, not a easily manipulated civilian. There's a difference.”

Vette wasn’t sure about that, but even she knew when not to press the issue.

Quinn didn’t seem bothered about what he had done.

Perhaps he wasn’t.

The rest of the drive was pleasant, strangely enough.

Vette was feeling rather out of sorts.

This wasn’t _bad_.

The car was the most expensive vehicle she had ever sat in, and Quinn wasn’t quite as stone-cold horrible as he had seemed earlier.

She was under no illusions about him, though.

Vette wasn’t naive, and she wasn’t stupid.

There were some people in the word that had, as her mother had often said, a ‘deficiency of humanity’.

Quinn, for all his aloof politeness, was probably one of those.

There had been no hesitation there, when he had drawn his gun and shot that man between the eyes.

No rage, no pleasure, no _anything_.

Like he was turning the page on a book or closing the door.

Ven’fir didn’t seem to feel a lot about it either, but she supposed that being a mobster’s son probably desensitised you to things like that.

She wondered how old he had been when he had first given the order.

How old had be been when he first pulled the trigger _himself_?

She sighed.

“Almost there.” Quinn murmured tonelessly.

She took a deep breath, realising that they were driving towards the fancier part of the city.

“Where are we going?”

Quinn didn’t answer for a moment, concentrating on navigating the traffic.

“Ven’fir has a house here,” he murmured. “You will stay there for tonight.”

She blanched.

“I though he meant like, a hotel or something.” She protested.

Quinn raised an eyebrow.

“A hotel? Where you could contact the police or slip away? No, you’ll be staying with us.”

“Us? Do you live there too?” she asked, and his mouth thinned.

“Yes.”

His tone was terse, and she didn’t want to press him.

‘The house, she found out, was more than just that.

She knew her mouth was hanging open when they pulled into the street, but she didn’t care.

This was the kind of area that people had to pay to breathe the air.

The Quinn pulled up and stopped the car, genteelly opening the door for her and letting her out.

It was weird.

She understood why some people called him The Butler.

Eyes the size of saucers, she followed him to the door.

Everything was pale stone, ambient lighting, and immaculate greenery.

Inside was like being in a magazine spread that Vette felt too poor to even read.

The lobby was marble, black panelling and golden accents. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, the stones throwing light onto the immaculate marble. A sweeping staircase took up one side of the room, while low couches and a coffee table stood in front of a contemporary fireplace.

“Wow,” she breathed, and Quinn shot her a glance.

“It’s his favourite residence,” he murmured, beckoning for her to follow. “He likes it better than the family estate.”

“Of course.” She muttered, derisive. “The _estate_ , yeah.”

This was the kind of luxury that Vette only saw in those celebrity programs where they showed off their houses that cost literal _millions_.

It probably said something about her that she was more off balance by ridiculous opulence than she was by casual violence.

Quinn seemed very at home, which she supposed made sense.

He showed her around, and she didn’t miss the presence of the security that hovered around them.

Quinn saw he looking.

“Ignore the _byki_.” He instructed. “The bodyguards.”

She tried to.

The house was bigger than it looked on the outside but eventually, he stopped outside a door.

“This is yours,” he said simply. “Please don’t wander. Dinner is at seven, you will be joining us.”

She fidgeted. “You’re going to be there?” she asked, and he nodded.

“I go wherever Ven’fir goes.” He said simply, and she envied his focus.

“Clothes have been laid out for you.”

She blinked.

“When?”

He gave a tiny smirk.

“When I called them to let them know to expect you. I’m a good judge of measurements.” he admitted and opened the door.

The room was, of course, _ridiculous._

She stood there, lost in the luxury. She felt very out of place.

Quinn sighed.

“Take a shower, get comfortable. Read a book.” He said firmly.

“Can I have my phone back?” she asked, having been meaning to ask for it since the goons had searched her and removed her things.

He gave her a look that said that she must have thought he was stupid.

“No.”

With a polite nod, he closed the door and she listened to his footsteps fade away.

Adrift, she looked around.

For someone whose idea of ‘nice’ meant furniture without holes or broken bits, this was overwhelming. Was this what blood money bought you?

She sat on the bed, feeling the fluffy duvet compress under her weight. She checked the sleek looking clock on the wall.

Two- and a-bit hours until food.

Dinner, with Ven’fir and Quinn, she assumed.

She decided to have a poke around before taking Quinn’s advice.

* * *

Quinn might have eyeballed her size decently, but he sure didn’t pick her style, she grumbled as she pulled on the clothes.

Her own were her working clothes, grubby and shabby but comfortable and easy to move in.

At least he hadn’t set out a _dress_.

She buttoned up the blouse that had been left for her, looking at herself in the mirror.

She didn’t look _bad_ , she supposed.

Was this what she would have to dress like if she accepted?

She sighed, smoothing down the trousers to get rid of creases.

The clothes were nice.

Comfortable.

The labels were from high end high-street shops, but nothing outrageous.

She didn’t think she would have felt comfortable in _designer_.

Clean and warm, she felt a little better. More confident.

While this kind of opulence was rather intimidating, it was also… pleasant.

Vette was used to having sleep for dinner.

She hadn’t even had a place for a few months last year, sleeping rough or in the shelter until she scraped enough money to rent a little flat that asked too much and looked like it should have been in a textbook for OSHA violations.

The job she had been caught on should have tided her over for a whole month, if it hadn't been the setup she was kore and more sure it was.

And then she would have to do another job for the next month. And the next.

The idea of living job to job for the rest of her life hurt.

It was bitter.

Tivva had understood, before they had split up to go their separate ways.

She didn’t know where her sister was now or what she was doing, but it hadn’t been pleasant last time they had talked.

She wished she were here.

Well, no.

She didn’t wish Tivva was here in the clutches of the Russian fucking _mob_ , but still.

The kind of money this could bring would set her up for life. Set them both up.

But that life might be very, _very_ short.

She swallowed.

She had been off balance all night.

She had barely mouthed off to anyone!

That wasn’t like her.

She resolved to show a little backbone.

They probably appreciated that kind of thing, right?

She sat and waited.

The moment it turned exactly seven, there was a knock at her door.

Rolling her eyes, she opened it.

Quinn was there, as stiff as always.

He wore a different suit, still unforgiving and without a hair out of place.

Now he was in grey and wasn’t wearing a tie. His collar was open slightly, and he greeted her with a nod.

He looked approving.

“I got your size right.” he murmured as she followed him. The plush carpet ate the sound of her footsteps.

“Yeah, all you had to do was pick ‘small’ and ‘short’.” She snorted.

He didn’t answer, and she got the feeling he wasn’t much of a joker.

Surprise, surprise.

The dining room was as stupidly fancy as the rest of the place, the wooden table already laid for three.

Ven’fir was there, standing up and speaking in whip fast Russian into his phone.

When they entered, he gave them a cheery wave and mouthed ‘sorry’ with rolled eyes.

She was tempted to ask Quinn what he was saying, but she got the feeling she would just get a disapproving look and no translation.

Quinn pulled her chair out for her, ignoring the look she gave him.

He was weird.

Finally, Ven’fir finished his call with a last burst of quick-fire Russian, and he stowed his phone in his pocket, smiling.

“Vette,” he greeted, “Nice to see you.”

She stiffened.

“How-“

It was Quinn who answered.

“We looked you up,” he said easily, “You weren’t hard to find. I like the name."

He didn’t sound apologetic.

She swallowed.

“Right.”

Ven’fir waved a hand, and his rings caught the light.

“Don’t worry about it, it doesn’t change anything.” He assured. “It was good thinking actually.”

She shifted, awkward.

“I hope you’re hungry.” He grinned, apparently in a good mood. “I could eat a horse.”

“Is that a traditional Russian delicacy?” she asked, and he barked out a laugh.

“You tease, but I have eaten horse.” He grinned. “No, I think we’re starting with borsch, then stroganoff and then I think we’ve got medovik for dessert.”

Quinn noticed her blank look and sighed.

“Beetroot soup, beef and potato in sauce, and then layered honey cake.”

Vette just nodded, resolving to at least try it.

Ven’fir looked sly.

“Don’t worry, it isn’t all Russian food here.” He chuckled. “But I hate to change my cook’s plan so late notice. They put up with me and they feed me, so I should be nice to them.”

He shrugged.

“There’s nothing weird in there, I promise.”

The food came, served by a gangly young man with a melancholic expression. Well, until Ven’fir started chatting with him in friendly Russian, leaving Vette to figure out her food while he put a smile on the man’s face.

The soup was very red.

She tried a bit and was surprised at the taste.

It was good.

“Like it?”

She glanced up, and Ven’fir was smiling at her.

He seemed more… dialled down, now. Like he had hung up the ‘mobster’ personality like Vette would hang up her coat.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “It’s good.”

He nodded, pleased.

The three of them ate, and Vette started to relax. Ven’fir was friendly, and even Quinn seemed to be less stiff.

As the main course came out, she studied them.

Ven’fir ate while he talked, his manners clearly learned and then ignored.

Quinn was the picture of politeness, and Vette noticed he wasn’t wearing his gloves.

Tattoos covered the backs of his hands, and she couldn’t make out what they were of. A bull, perhaps? She wondered what it meant.

A ring sat on his finger.

That robot was married?

Poor girl.

When the food was gone and Vette was fuller than she had ever been in her life, Ven’fir ushered them to another room for drinks and talk.

Amused, Vette noted his preference for vodka, and he laughed.

Quinn smiled.

It was weird, but she was feeling less and less out of place.

Oh, she was still very much aware that she didn’t belong in this kind of place, but… maybe passing through wasn’t so bad.

She knew they were showing off for her. Being nice.

They wanted her to join them, and they weren’t subtle about it. They pretended not to for the sake of politeness, but she wasn’t an idiot.

They didn’t seem to think she was, either.

That was refreshing.

When they were finally done, she was back in her room with her head spinning.

Ven’fir and Quinn had been incredibly open with her questions, and her brain felt full.

He glanced down.

Pyjamas lay on the bed cover, folded neatly.

They had not been there when she went downstairs.

She reached out and touched them.

They were silk.

Swallowing hard, she got ready for bed.

It should not have been so easy to fall asleep in a place like this.

* * *

The morning was strange.

She woke up to the sunlight filtering in through the blinds, illuminating the room with pleasant warmth.

She stretched and almost moaned.

This bed alone was worth joining the mob.

She stayed in it until she got too hot, and then went to take another shower because she sure as hell wasn’t passing up the opportunity to use hot water and not worry about paying for it.

When she was done and dressed, she sat on the bed.

It was still quite early, and she wondered if Quinn would fetch her for breakfast.

She would get to have _breakfast_.

She smiled, excited.

She was, technically, a prisoner.

Except she didn’t feel like one.

She hadn't been supposed to survive yesterday, and every breath was a 'fuck you' to whoever had thought they could use her as a scapegoat.

Tivva would be in her element here, among all the shiny, pretty things.

She waited.

Then she got bored after six minutes and padded to the door to open it.

She wasn’t shot on sight, which was good.

She headed for the dining room again because that was where food happened, she assumed.

Security watched her but did nothing. A good sign, although she wasn’t stupid enough to think it would stay that way if she looked to be heading anywhere but the dining room.

She wondered if Ven’fir would be there.

Strangely, she liked him.

She was under no illusions as to what kind of man he was, but she liked him, despite knowing him for only a few hours. Vette knew a lot of people who were far worse.

Vette herself had done things she wasn't proud of, and some things she shouldn't have been, but was.

It was confusing.

Tivva would have been wary of him, but he would win her over with that pretty smile and cheery persona.

She would have hated Quinn.

Vette let herself smile, even as she heard low voices coming from what she vaguely remembered was the kitchen.

The door was open and, poking her head in, she felt her mouth drop open.

Ven’fir and Quinn were inside and talking quietly, mugs of something steaming in their hands.

They stood close to each other, comfortable in the others space.

Quinn was smiling at something Ven’fir was saying, and he looked oddly soft.

Ven’fir was looking at him like had personally hung the stars, and she watched as he leaned in and kissed the other man, who softened into it and kissed him back.

It was a soft thing, all sweet and intimate.

She felt bad for intruding, even as her brain screamed at her.

She cleared her throat, and they parted.

Ven’fir stayed close even as Quinn seemed to step back, his cheeks colouring pink as he looked at her, startled.

“Uh, sorry.” She mumbled, awkward.

Ven’fir chuckled.

He was dressed down in jeans and a too-tight Henley, the white fabric not quite thick enough to completely hide the stark lines of his tattoos.

Quinn was in another suit, the jacket slung over the back of a chair. His white shirt was rolled up to his elbows. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes looked anywhere but at her.

It was strangely cute.

“Good morning,” he greeted her, flustered. Ven’fir chuckled and slipped an arm around his waist, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple.

“We didn’t hear you,” he smiled at her, and she relaxed a bit. Perhaps they weren’t going to have her killed for seeing.

“Coffee?” Ven’fir offered, “Or tea?”

“Coffee, please.” She murmured, wary.

With an easy grin, the mobster started the coffee machine.

There was a mobster making her coffee while his… boyfriend? Stared awkwardly at her.

“Sorry for walking in,” she muttered, feeling a bit bad about interrupting such a tender moment.

Tivva had always said that Vette had the subtlety of a hammer.

Quinn cleared his throat.

“No, it’s not your fault.” He murmured. “Were you looking for us?”

She nodded.

“Yeah, I got bored.”

Ven’fir snorted as the coffee machine started to percolate.

“Fair enough. I didn’t think you would be up so early,” he admitted. “Sleep well?”

Quinn pulled out a chair for her and she shot him a look that he ignored.

Pointedly, she pulled out another chair for herself and sat in it. He rolled his eyes, and she blinked at him in surprise.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Like I was sleeping in a cloud.”

Ven’fir sniggered.

“We don’t usually have a huge breakfast,” he admitted. “Work tends to interrupt. I’ve got croissants, though. The cook makes them for me because she knows I love them.”

Quinn nodded.

“She also knows you would eat twenty if she let you.” He said dryly, setting his mug down. From what Vette could see, it was filled with strong tea. She wasn’t even surprised.

Ven’fir shrugged.

“I might die, but what a way to go, right?”

“If you die from a croissant, I’ll never forgive you.” Quinn muttered as he set out plates. It was strangely domestic, and Vette felt out of place.

Quinn looked so snooty and disgusted by the idea that Ven’fir might be taken out by a pastry that she couldn’t help but laugh.

“I assume it would need to be more dramatic than that?” she asked, and Quinn shook his head.

“He’s dying at age one hundred with me at his side, having retired thirty years prior on the fruits of his empire.” He drawled. “If he dares die without my permission, I’ll be very upset.”

Ven’fir rolled his eyes.

“You just don’t want to ruin your perfect record of saving my ass.” He muttered as he poured the coffee.

Malavai raised an eyebrow.

“What kind of bodyguard would I be then?”

“A shit one?”

“Exactly.”

Vette stared.

“So, are you two married or what?” she asked bluntly and watched Quinn’s cheeks pink again.

“Yes.” He said stiffly.

Oh.

Ven’fir handed her a steaming mug.

It smelled amazing.

“Seven years, now.” He said fondly. “My father looked like he was about to have a heart attack when I told him I wanted to marry my bodyguard.”

Quinn sighed.

“He _did_ have a heart attack. A small one. He was in hospital for a week.”

Ven’fir snickered.

“He wanted to have you killed.” he said fondly, and Quinn looked grim.

“I recall.”

Vette shook her head.

“I’m in a dream land.” She muttered. “This is mad.”

“Because we’re being nice to you?” Ven’fir asked, taking a sip of coffee. “Or because you’re not dead yet?”

“Both,” she muttered, “Why aren’t you worried about me killing you or knowing where you live?”

Ven’fir sighed.

“Because I don’t think you could kill me,” he said bluntly. “Quinn pretty much never leaves my side, and even if you got past him, the _byki_ and _somehow_ gained a weapon, I would kill you without hesitation, and you would never find out who set you up."

He suddenly looked profoundly serious, and the switch gave her whiplash.

“I get my hands dirty, Vette.” He murmured, grey eyes not moving from hers. “I like you. I really do. But if you came at me then I would break your neck.”

She looked at him and nodded.

“Okay. I appreciate the honesty.”

He smiled, softening.

“Good. You’ll get a lot of it from me. I’m a terrible liar.”

She sipped her coffee, and it was perfect.

“So, have you thought any more about my offer about working in my team?” he asked, leaning back to lounge against the kitchen island. “You won’t get a better one.”

She deliberately put her mug down, playing with her sleeve.

“Yeah.”

There was a pause.

“And?”

She swallowed.

“How much?”

Ven’fir just grinned, and named his price.

* * *

Translations/Definitions

**Italian:**

_Serpente -_ snake

 _Vai a cagare –_ fuck off

 _Finocchio –_ faggot

 _Bastardo_ – bastard

 _Non ti dico niente -_ I'm not telling you anything

 _Il Maggiordomo -_ The Butler

 _L'ira –_ The Wrath

_Consigliere -_ a member of a Mafia family who serves as an adviser to the leader and resolves disputes within the family.

 _Capo -_ A _caporegime_ or _capodecina_ , usually shortened to capo or informally referred to as "captain", is a rank used in the Mafia (both the Sicilian Mafia and Italian-American Mafia) for a made member of the crime family who heads a "crew" of soldiers. They have major status within the organisation.

 _Camorra –_ A collection of clans that make up the Neapolitan mafia, originating in Naples.

 _La Cosa Nostra –_ The Sicilian mafia

 _Cammoristi –_ A member of one of the Camorra clans

**Russian:**

_Dorogoy_ – darling

 _Do skorogo –_ see you soon

_Avtorityet –_ Authority _._ Also known as a Brigadier. This rank is similar in meaning and function to the Italian _capo_.

 _Boyeviks_ –warriors. They made up the main force of a brigade, similar to soldiers in Italian-American Mafia crime families. There are several specialisations.

 _Pakhan –_ The boss, or Godfather.

 _Okhotnik –_ Hunter

 _Bratva –_ Brigade

 _Byki_ – A _Boyevik_ with the role of a bodyguard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I REALLY liked writing this one!
> 
> I borrowed the D'Antonio family from the John wick movies, because they're awesome.


	20. Merfolk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malavai goes on a blind date and discovers that it isn’t what he thought.

Malavai was perfectly happy by himself.

So, it was surprise even to himself when he found himself putting on his nice shirt and smoothing down his hair in preparation for a date.

A _blind_ date, no less.

Jaesa, his dear and admittedly only friend, had decided that he needed some company before he wasted away into old age and turned into a withered and lonely old grouch.

Her words, not his.

“Malavai!” he heard her voice sound up the stairs, “Are you ready?”

Too composed to mutter something sour under his breath, he took one last look at himself and deemed his reflection unable to be immediately improved.

Snagging his sunglasses to protect from the glaring sun outside (UV damage was important to mitigate!), he padded downstairs.

Jaesa had, naturally, decided to prepare him for whatever he was about to walk into, and was lounging on his sofa.

She glanced up, her eyes giving him a once over as he stepped into her line of vision.

Smoke curled at her feet, and her eyes glowed faintly in the shadow cast by Malavai’s blinds.

She raised an eyebrow, shimmering vapour playing around her form.

“You look awfully casual for a date.” The djinn commented, smiling. Her eyes were lined in black kohl. “I’m impressed.”

Malavai threw her a look.

“It’s at the beach,” he admitted. “Your friend picked it.”

She shrugged elegantly.

“He’s not _my_ friend,” she reminded, “He’s a friend of another friend. Vette said he’s nice.”

Malavai gave her a look.

“Vette hates me.” He said flatly, “She would probably set me up with a demon.”

Jaesa rolled her eyes.

“She’s not _horrible_ , Malavai.” She sighed, ignoring his murmur of ‘Not to _you’_. “And demons aren’t so bad. Depends which kind you get.”

Malavai, unwilling to bend on this, gave her a look.

“The bad kind.” He muttered sourly, still stinging from his last encounter with the argumentative pixie that Jaesa called her best friend. Malavai privately thought there was more going on there than Jaesa was admitting, but the djinn was remarkably good at getting out of answering any of his probing questions.

“So, he’s meeting you at the beach? That’s a nice date.” Jaesa encouraged, smiling. Wisps of magic shimmered at her fingertips, and she played with them absently.

Malavai nodded. It _was_ a nice idea for a date, and more secluded than a bustling restaurant or movie theatre.

“He said to meet by the little jetty, the one near the pier.” He murmured, nervous. “Jaesa, this is a bad idea.”

She sighed.

“No, it isn’t.” she disagreed gently. “If it’s no fun and you don’t like him, you don’t ever need to see him again. One afternoon, that’s it.”

Malavai knew she was right.

He _did_.

This was so far out of his comfort zone that it made him start thinking about all the ways it could go wrong.

“I suppose it is a nice day.” He agreed weakly. “And he sounded nice from his texts.”

She smiled, pleased.

“See? It won’t be so bad. Remember I’m only a text away if you need a convenient emergency.” She reminded, chuckling. She flicked her fingers and her phone popped into existence, where she deftly caught it as it fell. “I’ll keep it close.”

Malavai sighed and offered a wan smile.

This was already making his feel queasy.

“Thanks, Jaesa.” He murmured, heartfelt. She winked at him, and promptly popped out of existence in a shimmer of smoke that dissipated unnaturally quickly.

Malavai sighed, watching as the depression she had left in his cushions filled out.

His belly squirming with nerves and a cynical miasma settling over his mind, he forced himself out of the door even as he contemplated pretending to be ill to get out of going.

The weather was gloriously sunny, and his house was only fifteen minutes’ walk from the beach.

He had applied a generous layer of sunscreen and his sunglasses were perched on his nose, so he allowed himself to enjoy the walk.

The closer he got to the waterfront, the busier it got. The town wasn’t a large one and it wasn’t peak tourist season, but there was still a decent crowd of people going about their business on and around the beach.

He sidestepped a grumpy looking naga with a bawling hatchling following her and passed a group of humans who were enjoying some ice cream.

A shy looking cyclops held hands with a smiling centaur, and a group of high pitched, giggling pixies darted past them, leaving motes of glitter in their wake.

A police officer offer with the distinctive minotaur glower was dressing down a sullen group of teenage _álfar_ , while a furious human shopkeeper folded her arms and glared.

Malavai muttered an awkward deflection at a faun who was waving a leaflet at him, his human partner cheerily chatting to an interested group that had been caught.

A few _vila_ were winking and waving a sign for a smoothie shack on the beach, hoping to drive in customers.

To Malavai, it was all very colourful and entirely too noisy.

Hurrying along, he followed the line of the shore further away from the touristy areas, down to the where there was a small jetty that was used for boats of tourists going on a glass-bottom tour of the surrounding islands.

Not all were populated, but all were beautiful and paradisiacal in their own way.

It was quieter here, with the sand being less soft and stonier than the beach further back, and the large groynes made the water less attractive for swimming.

He wandered close, seeing no one.

Feeling very awkward, he stood by the jetty and watched the waves for a while.

He checked his watch.

Dead on.

Well, at least _he_ wasn’t late.

Malavai hated being late.

He had always liked the sea, and it had been at Jaesa’s insistence that he come and visit her after he retired from the military.

He came, decided it was fine, and decided to stay.

After all, his only friend in the world was there, and the sea was nice.

His family didn’t speak to him and his sister was deployed off doing who knew what for who knew who.

Still, it wasn’t a bustling metropolis or a sleepy little village, and he liked that.

Even if the local water spirits could get a little loud about the tourists.

He sighed, breathing in salty air, and listening to the rhythmic sound of the waves.

“Hey,”

He blinked, looking around for the sound of the voice.

He glanced down and up, wary of brownies or pixies that might be there, but his eyes were drawn to a figure on the jetty.

It was a man in the water, lounging with his arms crossed on the sun-bleached wood. His arms were heavily tattooed, crisp dark lines inked onto his skin.

He was grinning and his bronze skin was beaded with water, his eyes on Malavai.

“Hello?” Malavai tried, baffled as to why this person was talking to him. He was waiting for his date, but he couldn’t see anyone walking or flying along the beach to meet him. “Can I help you?”

The man’s grin widened.

“I would hope so. You’re Malavai, right? I’m Ven’fir.”

Oh.

That was his date’s name.

Malavai hadn’t really expected the man to be swimming if he was honest. It was a bit weird. He had expected a walk on the beach or something similar.

He nodded, shy and inelegant.

“That’s me.” He murmured cautiously.

Ven’fir tilted his head, resting his chin on his arms. He had a lovely smile, but there was something sharp about it that Malavai couldn’t quite make out from this distance.

He had a mop of dark curls that dripped water onto his skin, and Malavai had to admit that Jaesa had been right when she had told Malavai that Ven’fir was ‘hot enough to melt eyeballs’.

Well, at least if he was insufferable, Malavai had something nice to look at.

“Want to come a little closer, sweetheart?” Ven’fir asked with a smile, “Not that I don’t mind talking with you from halfway up the beach.”

Malavai blinked.

Okay, so he wasn’t planning on getting out of the water.

Withholding a sigh, he did as he was asked, wary of being pulled into the water.

He had bad memories of high school and class swimming lessons.

Closer, he was momentarily distracted by how Ven’fir’s arms looked in the sunlight, beaded with seawater.

Quickly looking away, he came up to the edge of the jetty.

Awkwardly, he realised that standing staring down at the other man was weird, so he gingerly sat down on the wooden planks, crossing his legs.

Now much closer, he noticed a few things.

That smile was, indeed, _sharp_.

A mouthful of sharp, needle like teeth was the first giveaway that Ven’fir might not have been just a particularly attractive and strange human, but the eyes were the next.

They were a bright, lambent yellow, fading to burnt orange around the edges, and when he blinked Malavai could see a flicker of a nictitating membrane. There were strange crescents in his neck that Malavai belatedly realised were _gills_ , and the fingers that drummed on the jetty were tipped in sharp, hooked claws that looked to be painted with black polish.

Of course, the webbed fins on his forearms and the flash of a shimmering tail in the water behind him were also pretty big clues.

“You’re merfolk.” Malavai blurted out, and Ven’fir looked amused. His tail caused the water to ripple behind him.

“Yeah, you didn’t know? I would have thought Vette would have mentioned that.” He murmured, watching him. Those eyes were inhumanly bright, and Malavai couldn’t stop looking into them.

“Vette hates me,” he admitted. “She might have not said on purpose.”

Ven’fir laughed, and it was a loud, unrestrained thing.

“Point.” He grinned, showing off that mouth full of razors again.

With a little shimmy, he hoisted himself up further out of the water, and Malavai was treated to the view of a stunning tail with a huge plume of fins. It was a rich, glimmering emerald that faded into inky black at the ends, and the magnificent colouring and billow of fins reminded him of a betta fish. Flashes of golden iridescence caught the sunlight, giving a stunning show to the human, who suddenly felt very plain in comparison.

Malavai caught a shimmer of iridescent scales covering his forearms and the backs of his hands, the colour concentrated where his forearm fins met bronze skin. A translucent shimmer of green gold scales spread out from his temples and faded into skin around his eyes.

“Wow.” Malavai murmured, and then promptly flushed pink when he realised what he had said.

Ven’fir grinned even wider and chuckled in a way that makes a shiver go down Malavai’s spine.

“Careful, my ego won’t be able to take it.” Ven’fir teased, brushing a damp curls from his eyes.

Dear gods, those claws were _wicked_.

Malavai swallowed hard.

Okay, so his blind date wasn’t just one of the merfolk, but he was also _gorgeous._

Well then.

It wasn’t that Malavai hadn’t met one of the merfolk before, it would be hard not to considering how he lived practically on top of the sea, but he hadn’t expected his blind date to be one.

It wasn’t a _bad thing_ , but Malavai was very aware that he had never been on a date with one of the merfolk before.

The closest he had come was a meeting at work with one of the directors who had taken a liking to him, who had been an intimidatingly large, cheerful orca-merfolk who seemed far more comfortable in her tank then they were in their suits.

Ven’fir smiled at him, and despite those _terrifying teeth_ , Malavai was put at ease. Ven’fir seemed not to be immediately awful, which was a nice start.

They talked, Ven’fir seeming not to notice Malavai’s caution, or perhaps he was just too nice to mention it.

He was… strange.

Not necessarily _bad_ , but he was loud and cheery, and he flirted like he breathed, but he was otherwise… normal.

He liked movies and he read books (laminated, he assured Malavai, who hadn’t asked) and liked to race with the dolphins in the bay.

Malavai _liked_ him.

So, when Ven’fir suggested that they move to the beach instead of the jetty so that they could talk properly, he agreed.

Ven’fir should have looked ridiculous out of the water, all flopping tail fins and awkward limbs.

He didn’t, and it was kind of unfair.

Malavai would not have looked as good in the water as Ven’fir did out of it.

He lay there on the sand, one elbow propping him up on his side as he smiled at Malavai.

Water droplets glistened on his skin and made his tail glitter, and Malavai was _very_ distracted by the swell of his arms and the broadness of his shoulders.

The tattoos on his arms carried on to his shoulders and onto his back, where Malavai had caught a glimpse of a trail of scaled ridges that followed the curve of his spine down to merge seamlessly with his tail.

He lay there, looking like absolute _sin_ , and Malavai felt very plain and awkward beside such a beautiful thing.

Thankfully, Ven’fir had not stopped smiling at him since they had started talking.

It was flattering, and Malavai felt the ball of anxiety in his belly loosen. He was very good at telling when people thought he was weird and were just humouring him, and this didn’t feel like that.

Ven’fir was flirting with him something fierce, sending him a barrage of inviting, sharp toothed smiles, and appreciative looks from under his eyelashes that made Malavai’s cheeks pink.

Malavai was a little ashamed to say that he wanted him.

He wasn’t ashamed because the object of his desires wasn’t human, there were a lot of people who weren’t human, but… well. It was the _first date_ and Malavai was sure that if Ven’fir asked, he would be _very_ tempted to find out just how humans and merfolk fucked.

Oh god, he was weird.

He wanted to fuck a fish man on their first date.

Clearly, he hadn’t been laid in _way_ too long and it had turned him into some kind of… desperate floozy.

But Malavai was too old for that kind of concern and, honestly, he would take what he could get.

That sounded bad in his head, but if someone he was interested in was also interested in him, well, that was a rare enough occurrence for him to want to capitalise on it.

Ven’fir, from how he was smiling, and with how one hand was resting cheekily on Malavai’s leg as he lay on the sand in a pose mimicking the merfolk, was into him.

Well, that was flattering.

“Malavai?” Ven’fir murmured, bright eyes watchful and smile a little sly. “Do tell me if I’m being forward here but… I think I want another date with you-”

“ _Yes_.”

Malavai blushed at how quickly he had responded, and Ven’fir gave a low laugh.

“Well, that’s good to know.”

He paused, and Malavai realised that the sun had dropped below the horizon.

They had been talking for _hours._

He had barely noticed.

He would have to go soon, before Jaesa worried about him or they got interrupted by a curious lifeguard.

Ven’fir seemed to think the same thing because he grinned and shifted a little closer, sulphur yellow eyes bright under his lashes.

“I really like you.” He murmured, and Malavai tried not to go red at his forwardness. He failed.

“I like you, too.” He responded quietly, feeling his heart beat fast and his belly bloom with heat and a fluttery feeling he tried to ignore. “I’ll text you?”

Ven’fir grinned.

“Only if I don’t text you first,” he teased. “It’s a pity my phone can’t handle calls underwater, but the new model isn’t out yet. Maybe I’ll get it so I can talk to you.”

Feeling a little overwhelmed and a lot flattered, Malavai breathed out slowly.

There was a pause.

Malavai wanted to kiss him.

It was probably unwise and definitely too soon, but he _wanted to._

Thankfully, his date had similar ideas.

Withy a sly little grin that exposed those razor-sharp teeth that Malavai probably should have been much more worried about than he was, he pressed himself closer. The water had long dried on his skin and scales, but that didn’t diminish how pretty they were. His hair had dried into a thick mop of curls that gave him a boyish air, and Malavai couldn’t stop looking at him.

“Can I kiss you?” Ven’fir breathed, hopeful. “You’re so damned _lovely_.”

Malavai, heart in his mouth and air stolen from his lungs by nerves and anticipation, barely had time to nod before he had his arms full of warm, heavy merfolk.

He ended up pressed into the sand, a grinning Ven’fir above him, his arms bracketed on either side of Malavai’s head and his torso effectively on top of him, his heavy, powerful tail resting off to the side in the sand, pressed against Malavai’s leg.

Without further words, he leaned down and Malavai swore he went to heaven.

Ven’fir’s body was almost burning hot, and he was solid enough to be heavy as he rested himself against Malavai.

His mouth was warm and he tasted like salt, his kisses gentle and careful of his sharp teeth.

Malavai reached up and wrapped his arms around him, drawing him in closer and feeling a pleased grin work its way onto Ven’fir face as they kissed.

It was hot and it was _wonderful,_ and it was the strangest kiss Malavai had ever had, even as it got a little less gentle and little more needy.

His fingers mapped out the other mans back, feeling those hard, sharp ridges along his spine. He ran his fingers down them, feeling how little give there was, causing Ven’fir to give a full body shiver and make a _delicious_ noise into his mouth.

Malavai did it again, and he was rewarded with a cut off moan, and Ven’fir braced himself on an elbow as he wound the other hand in Malavai’s hair, mindful of his sharp claws.

What had probably supposed to have been a cheeky, sweet kiss to mark the end of a pleasant date had flared somewhat out of control, but Malavai really couldn’t bring himself to care.

Malavai was completely wrapped up in him, his body warm and tingling and oversensitive.

Eventually, they had to part so Malavai could breathe, and he panted as they rested their foreheads together.

Ven’fir was breathing heavily too, his eyes crinkled with amusement and reflecting the light of the moon and the lamps on the promenade like the predatory creature he was.

He impulsively bent his head to kiss Malavai again, swift and playful.

He laughed, breathless.

“Yeah, we’re _definitely_ having another date.” He grinned, and Malavai couldn’t help but laugh.

He didn’t want to let go.

Ven’fir was so warm and pleasantly heavy that he would have been happy laying there in the cooling sand for a few hours more.

But Malavai was desperate to Google how humans and merfolk fucked now, and he needed to go home to do that.

Giddy and lightheaded from desire and delight, he bit his lip and watched as Ven’fir’s eyes dropped to his mouth and felt how his form tensed slightly.

That was a powerful feeling.

Malavai liked it.

“Soon?” he breathed, hopeful.

He would have to thank Jaesa and Vette.

The pixie would be insufferable, but it was worth it.

Ven’fir grinned at him, utterly inhuman and not hiding it.

“ _Very_ soon.” He promised, and Malavai pulled him down for another kiss.

He couldn’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Malavai does a lot of incognito googling when he gets home.
> 
> A LOT.


	21. Modern Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malavai is a Contractsman specialising in magical law, and his client is having trouble with a very troublesome fae.

Malavai was looking through eyes of liquid crystal, peering into a world made of glassine insects that made up the glittering skyscrapers that touched the maroon sky with their reaching coils.

The air was honey and salt, and it screamed as he breathed it in.

“Are you satisfied with the wording on subsection four?” He asked, his mouth feeling like it stretched obscenely over the words as he spoke them. Idly, he likened it to coming back from the dentist with a numb mouth, swollen and useless.

His words felt wrong in the honey air, like they weren’t welcome in this place.

They probably weren’t.

“Yes, thank you Mr Quinn. We appreciate your diligence.”

The speaker looked down at him from multifaceted eyes, their mouthparts appearing to struggle with human speech patterns, but the voice was deep and smooth and tickled Malavai's inner ear.

Malavai dropped into a perfect bow, bending at just the right angle and with the correct arm placement for who was speaking to, and heard vibrations of approval reverberate through the assembled beings.

“It was my pleasure.” He murmured as his tongue turned to a writhing snake in his mouth and back again, “I will have the peripherals sent to you via portal as soon as I have drawn up the final document. _Thanaton, Baras and Ravage Ltd_ thanks you for your co-operation.”

Straightening after the correct number of seconds, he raised a hand and with a well-practised series of sigils, tugged on the thin line of power that kept him tethered to his body.

With a last look at the melting, crystal world that he had seen every day for the past few months, he felt himself break into a million shards of glass, and then he was back in his office. There was a feeling of falling, a sudden lurch of vertigo that sent his stomach twisting and his brain feeling like lead. He closed his eyes, and then he opened them again.

His stomach rolling and his head pounding, he stumbled off the floor where his ritual circle was inscribed into the wood and collapsed in his chair.

He had set out water before he had made the projection, knowing that he would need it on his return.

The water was lukewarm and stale, little bubbles clinging to the side of the glass. He drank it all anyway, feeling much better after a few moments.

Setting the glass down, he settled himself into his native plane.

Projecting oneself into other planes was tough work, but a common occurrence for a Contractsman like Malavai.

Opening a drawer on his desk, he withdrew a small first aid kit and, with steady hands, bandaged the cut on his palm that had served as the sacrifice for the magic.

The ritual circle was a standard affair, a tried and tested set of arrays for extra-planar communication. It was etched into his floor, inlaid in silver and deeply hewn enough to hold liquid if required.

His athame and Contract lay in the centre, but he would clear up when he was feeling more himself again.

He drank some more water and things started to settle, and he allowed himself to relax for a moment.

Four months of negotiations, contract amendments and careful diplomacy, and they were done. Contract signed and ratified, or it would be as soon as he sent the paperwork over.

It was easily the biggest win of his career, and inside he was buzzing with satisfaction and tired, vicious joy.

Never one to shy from work, even when he was this tired, he got up to begin clearing away his ritual paraphernalia.

He carefully stored the ingredients away, feeling the tingle of lightning on his fingers as he did so.

He was _tired_ , but his day was not yet even remotely over.

He barely felt like his apartment, a tiny little studio on the riverbank, was his.

He barely slept there, after all. He ate breakfast there and slept (sometimes), and the more time he spent on the train to the office, the less time he had to work.

He sheathed his athame, the crystal blade catching the sunlight pouring from his window and throwing iridescence into his eyes.

He carefully unrolled the Contract, ready to make the necessary changes.

With a small wince, he unravelled the bandages around his palm and pressed a thumb into the wound to force it to well up with fresh blood.

He dipped the tip of his bone pen into the little pool, set about making the modifications to the wording. He was incredibly careful and, as far as he was aware, he wording was watertight.

No demons would be using one of _his_ loopholes to illegally cross over the Gateway into the human world, and the demons would be carefully protected against exploitation.

His client _,_ Transplanar Portal Solutions, would be extremely pleased, he hoped.

He checked the clock on the wall, the one showing the time in his timeplane and zone. The others, one made of crystal and tickling every now and then at seemingly random intervals and the other, made of water and ticking like a hummingbird’s wings, were not useful right now.

Three hours.

Well, he had made good time.

The Contract was amended, and his hand was slowly knitting itself back together with a shimmer of power, so he took a well-earned break.

Seven minutes was optimal and gave him the right amount of time to stretch the recommended routine that the company had sent around for the health initiative last week.

A knock on the door interrupted him before he could even leave his chair, and he sighed.

Breaks were for interns anyway, he supposed.

“Come in.” he called.

No one would ever enter a Contractsman’s office without knocking, for fear of interrupting a ritual or spell.

No one wanted to clean up _that_ kind of mess.

Jaesa poked her head in, glancing around and stepping into his office when she saw that he wasn’t in the middle of a ritual.

She smiled, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Her suit was immaculate always, and her eyes were lined in thick kohl.

She was probably the only person in the firm that Malavai trusted wouldn’t plant their athame in his back the moment it became convenient, and it was nice to have someone like that.

She was younger than he was, having graduated from the Thaumaturgical Schools long after he had left. Her raw talent for the work had done her credit, and she was a rising star in the firm.

Of course, this painted a target on her back, but Jaesa was sharp in more ways than one.

She smiled at him, coming over to sink into one of the chairs in front of his desk that were usually for clients. Malavai carefully took out his teapot and cups, laying them on the wooden surface of his desk on the small tray they sat on. With measured hands, poured water into it, and brushed his fingertips over the delicate bone china. Steam began to rise from the spout at his touch, and with measured hands, he dropped several heaped mounds of aromatic leaves inside.

“Long morning?” she asked, her eyes lingering on the sheaves of rolled up vellum that bore the seal of the company, and the pen that sat in its holder, the tip crimson.

He nodded.

“I closed the Transplanar Portal Solutions contract,” he murmured, pleased with his own work. Demons were a tricky sort, and no one wanted to give them a loophole that they could exploit. If given the slightest opportunity, they would flow through the Gateway like a sea on the wave of his open contract, and no one wanted demons with no magical restrictions swarming the human plane.

They would trade and work and study, but there was separation for a reason.

Jaesa’s eyebrows raised.

“Really?” she asked, surprised. “I heard Talos saying that the bosses expected you to need another month.”

Malavai ignored a vicious sense of pride at that.

“Clearly not,” he said, tone level. “I’m going to submit the contract this afternoon.”

She looked impressed.

“I can’t believe you’re still not Partner.” She admitted. “You’re way better than those well-to-do fops whose parents paid for their way through the Schools.”

Malavai nodded, bitterness spreading over his tongue.

“Well,” he murmured. “Some of us have debts to pay.”

She snorted, tossed her hair as Malavai poured them tea, the liquid a rich red brown. The cups sat daintily in their saucers, their rims inlaid with gold, and the china white as bone.

“Don’t I know it. I feel like my soul is heavier every moment, what with all the interest they're placing on it.”

Malavai smiled as he sipped his tea.

“I’m sure you didn’t come here to bemoan our fate,” he nudged. “Unless you did?”

She shook her head.

“No, as fun as it is to think about the ‘mancers that are in accounting, weighing our debts.” She muttered, sarcastic. “You’ve been requested.”

Malavai blinked.

He was never requested.

Well, not unless someone needed some awfully specific expertise.

“Who?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

She gave him a sympathetic look that he didn’t like.

“Apparently, it’s quite the situation.” She went on, “Delicate.”

Malavai frowned.

“Jaesa,” he warned, getting impatient. “Who requested me?”

She sighed, setting her cup down carefully in its saucer.

“Aetherwave Contracting,” she admitted, looking unhappy. “That’s not the bad part.” She added quickly as Malavai went to interrupt.

Aetherwave Contracting dealt in labour, mainly forming contracts with demons, fae and other otherrealm creatures that wished to work.

Since they were often stronger and more versatile than humans, it was a lucrative field to be in, and one that wasn’t as tightly regulated as it should be. Allegations of contracts that were so restrictive that they were tantamount to slavery were rife, as were unsanctioned contracts that were sloppy and left loopholes.

He wasn’t sure which one was worse.

He sighed.

“So, Aetherwave Contracting want me to do… what? And what’s the bad part?”

She sighed again.

“They might have got themselves into a bit of a mess.” She admitted, carefully choosing her words. “As far as I was told, they’ve been contracting fae that… might not have been entirely willing.”

Malavai sighed, a sinking feeling settling in his gut.

“Why,” he began with ire, “Do people think this kind of thing is acceptable? Are they stupid?”

Jaesa pursed her painted lips.

“Not stupid, I think.” She admitted. “They botched a contract on purpose and caught any fae who came through, before forcing them into a contract and putting them to work.”

Malavai rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“And? How did it all go wrong for them?” he asked because these things always did.

She allowed herself a small smile.

“Something came through that they couldn’t get rid of.”

He paused, decided against calling them stupid again, and took a sip of his tea.

“Sidhe?”

“Sidhe.”

“Shit.”

“Quite.”

“So,” he began, “Who asked for me?”

Jaesa smiled, and it wasn’t a nice one.

“Baras did. Apparently, he remembered your work with fae in the past.”

Malavai frowned.

“I should hope so,” he muttered, bitter. “I saved his biggest client.”

Jaesa chuckled, leaning forward, and patting his hand.

“Baras remembers what ne needs to, when he needs to.” She agreed, standing up. “I would go soon, though. They need you by zenith.”

Considering it was only about an hour to midday, he looked at her accusingly. She laughed, leading for the door.

“Thanks for the tea, Malavai.” She grinned. “Tell me how it goes!”

With that, she was gone.

Malavai allowed himself a moment to finish his tea, before standing up and beginning to pack.

He would need more than just his brain for this.

* * *

Aetherwave Contracting had an office that looked like it was out of a bad serial.

Not that Malavai watched serials, or even would if he had the time.

The façade was grubby, and the name actually read Aethwav Cntractig, with how several of the letters had escaped the wall they were mounted to.

He strode inside, his gloved hand grasping the handle of his briefcase.

The receptionist, a fae with a dead expression, glanced up.

“Contractsman,” he murmured, his voice buzzing with some otherworldly quality that made Malavai’s ears tickle. He didn’t look enthused to see him.

Malavai nodded.

“I am here to-“

“Upstairs.” The fae interrupted, his luminous eyes dull and his shimmering skin looking sicklier than the off-white walls. “Office.”

Malavai was usually met at reception, but he supposed this was a special case.

Nodding a solemn thank you to the fae, he made for the flight of stairs, ignoring the lift that had the remnants of tape fluttering over the rusted doors.

Hoping he could identify the correct office, he ascending the stairs, feeling claustrophobic already.

This place smelled like fear and desperation, and he wasn’t even at the first floor yet.

Dead dreams brushed their starving fingers against his soul, and he brushed them off.

Malavai knew all about dreams and dead things since both danced under his fingertips.

Necromancy had always been one of his best subjects at school.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he needn’t have worried about finding the right room.

Only one door was open, and there were angry voices coming from inside.

He headed for the door and stepped inside with a polite knock.

He stared.

He had expected to see an aggressive fae trapped within its summoning circle, panicked humans trying to come up with a way of getting rid of it.

Instead, he walked into what could only be described as a comedy sketch.

Three humans in varying states of fury were standing in front of a ritual circle that held a diminutive figure that was grinning at them, her shimmering blue skin catching the unpleasant yellow of the strips in the ceiling and shining peridot.

At his knock, the fae turned eyes that shone with galaxies on him.

Following her gaze, the humans turned.

“Who in the stars are you?” one woman snarled, her shoulders tense and posture defensive. Blood coated her hands, and she held an athame in one of them. She seemed to have been attempting a ritual of some kind.

The other humans seemed to defer to her, and Malavai fixed his attention on her.

“Malavai Quinn, _Thanaton, Baras and Ravage Ltd.”_ He introduced himself primly. “I believe you are asking for our services?”

From the desk, he saw the fae’s smile grow wider, exposing a mouthful of dagger-like teeth.

The woman seemed to settle, and her grip on her blade grew lax.

“Oh, yes.” She nodded; her sandy hair pulled back from her heavy featured face. Her accent was rolling and melodic and did not match with her otherwise brutish air. “We’ll pay if you get rid of this thing.” She grunted, and Malavai was a little taken aback at her bluntness.

He was used to people who were rather more in the know, as it were.

The fae waved, apparently amused.

“It’s not quite as simple as that, Ms…”

“Forrester-Zhou.” She grunted, her eyes roving over his suit and her lip curling. “Make it _leave_ , Contractsman.”

“Firstly, I must find out how she _got_ here.” Malavai retorted.

Her look soured.

“There was a mistake,” she grunted. “And she came through before we caught it.”

So, they were sticking to the story that they were merely innocents who made an error.

“That’s a lie.”

The voice was a high pitched and feminine, and Malavai followed it to the circle. The fae inside was a small, slight slip of a thing, her blue skin and equally blue hair making her the most eye-catching thing in the room. When she spoke, Malavai felt her words buzz into his head like excitable bees.

She pouted.

“They’ve been catching people, so I came through to see what was going on.” She said, narrowing her galaxy eyes. “But they caught me too. You’re not the only Contractsman they called, either.” She said, sticking her tongue out at the woman as she spat out a curse.

Malavai turned to her, eyes narrowed.

“Who did you call?” he demanded, having a bad feeling. There was fierce, cutthroat competition between the Contractsman firms in the city, and clients sometimes took advantage of that to drive a lower price.

There were only a handful of Contractsmen that specialised in fae contracts.

The woman eyed him with distaste, but before she could open her mouth, she was cut off.

“That would be me, darling.”

Malavai closed his eyes.

He _knew_ that voice.

He _hated_ that voice.

“I should have known you would find an excuse to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, _Polaris_.” He bit out, turning to see the man that had just entered.

Ven’fir Polaris stood out.

He wore a suit that cost more than the building they were in, his shirt left artfully unbuttoned just enough to be a little scandalous, and his dark curls brushed the collar as though placed there by an invisible stylist.

His half-fae blood gave him the faintly shimmering skin and jewel bright eyes of the otherworld, and his smile held sharper teeth than one would find on any human. Malavai knew his ears came to a faint point, and his voice caused the air to shiver when he spoke.

He was, Malavai had to admit with an annoyed frown, absolutely _gorgeous_.

Of course he was, he scolded himself, he’s got fae blood. His magic came naturally to him too, requiring less study and preparation than a human would need. Instead of the seven years Malavai had spent with his head down and studying, Ven’fir Polaris had spent only three.

It was sickening, honestly.

He was from a wealthy family with the kind of social connections that opened doors, so had been promptly catapulted to success the moment his scroll was in his hand.

Ugh.

Malavai had loans to pay back, a lifetime of stress on his shoulders and a shitty studio in the bad part of town.

Malavai hated him.

The fae in the circle giggled.

“You’ve got stars in your blood!” she sang, and Ven’fir smiled at her, moving closer.

“I do.” He agreed, giving her a wink that she laughed at. He turned to their clients, who were staring at him. “Ven’fir Polaris, of _Marr, Vowrawn and Nox_.” He introduced, holding out a hand that glittered with a smattering of golden rings. His smile and his voice, laid over with fae mesmer, put everyone at ease.

Except Malavai.

He liked to think it was hatred that made his body sing when Ven’fir spoke.

“I think,” he interrupted, annoyed. “That there has been some mistake. There is no need for _two_ Contractsmen here.”

“Are you offering to go home?” Ven’fir asked, smiling at him like he wanted to eat him.

Malavai glared.

“Certainly not. I believe you were _second_ , Polaris.” He pointed out, “I wouldn’t want to make you late for your next hair appointment.”

Ven’fir’s smile was rather fixed.

Fae were vain, and half-fae seemed to be no exception.

“Hair was yesterday,” he threw back, eyes narrowed. “It’s nails today.”

Without giving Malavai time to respond, he turned to the fae in the circle.

“What’s your name?” he asked, tilting his head.

She giggled, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“I’m not that stupid, I’m not telling you my True Name.” she admonished, amused. “But you can call me Vette.”

Ven’fir smiled.

“Vette, I like that.”

She shrugged.

“Good. It’s the only one you’re getting.”

Malavai felt like things were being taken out of his hands, and he didn’t like it.

He took a breath, stepped up and got to work.

* * *

Four hours later, and they were nowhere.

Well, Malavai was nowhere.

Old gods, this was frustrating.

The clients were doing more harm than good, and he could see it was wearing on Ven’fir too.

The half-fae’s toothy smile was rather fixed, and there was a look in his eyes that reminded Malavai of an alligator.

Vette was stubbornly refusing to budge.

“Frankly, this is no one’s fault but your own.”

Malavai tuned back in to hear Ven’fir send the cutting remark at the clients, who looked about ready to murder him.

“Shut down the slavery, and she’ll leave on her own. She just wants to keep her people safe.” Ven’fir sighed, his perfect hair looking ruffled and his shirt pulling taut over his broad shoulders, his jacket clung over a shabby chair.

Malavai couldn’t help but run his eyes over the swells of his arms and the lines of his back.

“We are a legitimate-“

Malavai had a brainwave.

“Of course.” He interrupted, unwilling to sit through another ten minutes of assurances of how legitimate they were. “May I see the original contract please?”

Of course, they had transcripts of everything, but Malavai wanted the _original_. He had an idea.

Ms Forrester-Zhou scowled.

“We’ve given you the contract.” She grunted, but Malavai shook his head.

“No, the actual document, please.” He requested, stonily polite. “I wish to check the blood.”

He wanted to do no such thing, but he couldn’t very well give himself away.

She frowned.

“No. We don’t have it.” She muttered.

He frowned.

“You don’t? Why not?”

She narrowed her eyes.

“It was lost. Do you treat all your clients this way, Contractsman Quinn? I think Contractsman Polaris is more polite than you.”

Malavai tilted his head.

“Ma’am, I simply wish to help.” He assured. “And to do that, I need to look at the original contractual document. If it truly can’t be found, that’s a huge blow to our ability to help you.”

He was hardly the most persuasive person in the world, but not a single person here wanted to be here any longer than they absolutely had to, and that worked to his advantage.

She stared at him for a few seconds, before jerking her head and one of her employees headed off, his expression wary.

Ven’fir looked at him curiously, and Malavai just gave him a glare.

Those grey eyes had they distinctive fae gemlike quality, like smoked diamonds. Ven’fir gave him a smile designed to annoy, and Malavai wanted to wipe it off his stupidly pretty face.

The employee returned with a dusty roll of vellum, handing it to Malavai, who took it carefully.

The original contract was a powerful thing, holding the binding magic in the blood written on its surface.

He unrolled it and, sure enough, immediately saw what he was looking for.

There was no sigil where the Contractsman would have made their mark.

True Names were all over it, but there was no _sigil_.

This hadn’t been done by a licensed Contractsman.

That, Malavai thought with a shiver of petty satisfaction, was very much against the law.

“Ma’am, I think I see the issue.” He murmured, and she glanced over, surprised. “You were duped, I fear.”

Of course, they weren’t duped at all. They had been the ones to create the contract, but he wasn’t going to accuse them of that yet. They were, after all, his clients.

No, all he needed was for the purposefully faulty contract to not be a problem anymore, and Vette would leave. Then he would have fulfilled his duty and could go after them without nebulous rules getting in the way.

“It looks like the Contractsman who you hired to create this wasn’t one at all,” he murmured. “You see? No sigil.”

Ven’fir peered over, and a shadow crossed his face even as he looked impressed.

“Crafty, these conmen.” He murmured, catching Malavai’s eye. He knew exactly what Malavai was up to.

Malavai ignored him.

“This is the source of your fae problems, I fear.”

Ven’fir smiled as the woman’s face darkened.

“Don’t worry, _Marr, Vowrawn and Nox_ would be happy to rewrite the contract for you, for a small fee.” He offered, charming.

Malavai’s blood boiled.

That _brat._

“As would _Thanaton, Baras and Ravage Ltd._ ” He said quickly, his lip curling. “And we would ensure the legitimacy of your future contracts at a reduced rate, should you decide to engage our services.”

Forrester-Zhou grimaced, caught out and unable to admit it.

“Fix it.” She snapped at Malavai, who accepted with a small bow, pleased. Ven’fir’s expression was sharp.

Instead of arguing, he walked over to Vette, smiling.

She smiled back, tiny needle teeth filling her mouth.

“The contract will be fixed,” he murmured, “You don’t need to worry about any of your people coming through by accident.” He assured, and she tilted her head.

“Yeah?”

Their conversation grew to quiet for Malavai to hear, but Vette was smiling and Ven’fir was looking conspiratorial.

He didn’t like that, not at _all_.

Vette suddenly smirked and gave a rude hand sign to the three humans who watched her sourly.

With a pop and a twist of shimmering crystal that looked like it had melted and shattered all at once, she was gone.

Malavai blinked, surprised.

Ven’fir turned around, pleased with himself.

“And that takes care of that.” He tilted his head. “I believe the original request was to get rid of the fae, and I appear to have done so.”

Malavai was about to angrily point out who had made the headway to let him _do_ that, when Ven’fir kept talking.

“Partly thanks to Contractsman Quinn’s work, of course.” He said with a beatific smile. “I think we shall split the fee, yes?”

Malavai glowered at him.

“That sounds acceptable.” He bit out, hating him more every moment.

Ven’fir smiled, sharp and hungry.

“I thought it might.”

* * *

It was when Malavai was trudging through the rain towards the nearest train stop, exhausted and only vaguely pleased he had sorted the case out, that a car pulled up next to him. A window wound down, and a familiar face popped out.

“Get in,” Ven’fir said, rolling his eyes. “You’ll freeze.”

Malavai glared at him.

“No thank you,” he bit out, “Everyone knows not to take anything from fae.”

His mocking tone earned him another eye roll, and Ven’fir opened the door anyway, stepping out into the pouring rain.

He was infuriating.

And _lovely._

Ven’fir sighed, rainwater hitting his burnished skin and sinking into the fabric of his shirt. It was unfair of any man, human or fae blooded, to look so disrespectfully fine when he was getting soaked in a city rainstorm. The rain turned his shirt translucent and it clung to the lines of his body in ways that made Malavai’s head swim.

The half fae gave him a look.

“Don’t be stubborn, I’m being nice for once. Get in.”

The rain was cold, and that car looked warm.

“I’ll buy you a celebratory drink?”

The magic words.

Malavai narrowed his eyes.

“Just one.”

Ven’fir smiled.

“If you say so.”

* * *

Malavai was dead, he was sure.

This was what death must have felt like because he had never felt so comfortable in his life.

There was no way he was alive, because if he was alive then he should have been working right now, and he _wasn’t_.

He stretched, feeling his senses blink into being one by one.

Something smelled like clean laundry and sandalwood, and it was a comfortable smell that made him want to bury himself in it.

He couldn’t see anything but swathes of blush and pink and yellow from behind his eyelids, sunlight streaming in to warm his skin.

The sheets felt wonderful on his skin, cool and pleasant and-

He opened his eyes.

This was _not_ his bedroom.

And the reason he could feel those sheets was because he was _naked_.

Memories filtering in, he closed his eyes and opened them again.

No change.

He muttered a quick spell.

Not an illusion.

He cast a few lightning quick sigils, his fingers blurring.

He was still on his natural plane.

He sighed, and braced himself, rolling over.

Ven’fir Polaris lay next to him, looking like sin in the golden morning light.

The sheets pooled around his waist and his head of black curls haloed around his head as he snoozed, and Malavai couldn’t help but appreciate him without his clothes on.

Oh, gods.

He had fucked his rival.

His face in his hands, he breathed.

Remembering the night before, he felt himself go crimson.

They… hadn’t been very discreet.

He had done things that he wasn’t sure the names of, and he was _sure_ that magic had been involved in some of them.

He shifted and winced.

Yeah. _That_ was a problem.

“Morning, darling.”

He jumped, throwing a nasty glare at the smirking half-fae, who was sleepily blinking his eyes.

“I hate you.” He snarled, and Ven’fir grinned wider.

“I gathered,” he teased, giving him a very long look up and down that made Malavai want to pull the sheets up to his chin. “If that’s how you fuck people you hate, I want to see what you do with people you _like.”_

Malavai’s cheeks went pink even as he glared.

“You’ll never find out,” he bit back, “Because I doubt that I’ll _ever_ like you.”

Ven’fir just kept smiling, propping himself up on his elbows and giving Malavai a wonderful view of how the sheets clung to him.

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

Well, then.

He spotted bites along Ven’fir’s throat and the beginnings of scratches at his shoulders that seemed to carry onto his back.

From the burning feeling on his own neck, he was sure he was also covered in marks left by those sharp teeth.

They hadn’t been gentle.

Ven’fir, the irritant, seemed to notice him staring.

With a quick shuffle, he was on top of him, straddling him with his elbows either side of Malavai’s head. He stared up at the playful half-fae, trying not to enjoy where he was right now.

“Get off me.” He snarled, even as his brain made the happy noise of having a warm, attractive man over him.

He would have said it was because he hadn’t been laid in what seemed like forever, but the memories and aches from the previous night said otherwise.

Ven’fir smirked down at him.

“No.” he purred, moving to whisper into Malavai’s ear. The fae mesmer that coated his voice made his belly warm and his heart beat fast. He sounded like _sin_. “I caught you, fair and square.”

Malavai glared up at him.

“Do you think that if got you in a circle, I could trap you?” he shot back, “Because it’s tempting.”

“You want me at your mercy?” Ven’fir asked, mouth brushing the shell of Malavai’s ear. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

Well, then.

 _Those_ were images that he could appreciate.

Ven’fir ground his hips down, and Malavai saw stars.

Fuck it. He shifted, and wrapped his arms around the other man, nails digging into his skin as he moved to lock his ankles behind his back, keeping him close and reminding him that this was not a gentle tryst between lovers.

Ven’fir smirked, pleased.

“Maybe later.” Malavai muttered, looking up through his lashes. “And I still hate you.”

Ven’fir winked at him, mouth almost brushing his own. He was so _warm_.

“Noted.” He whispered, before he closed the gap between them and there wasn’t any talking after that.


	22. Noir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ven'fir is a detective who is called to the scene of a murder, and finds himself drawn to the husband of one of the victims, who is more than he seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning for this one. It contains themes of domestic abuse; physical, emotional and financial.
> 
> It's not graphic or explicit, but it's there.
> 
> Oh, and murder.
> 
> Yeah, that's there too. Don't do murders, kids.

Ven’fir sighed, watching the rain.

The lights from the cars blurred and twisted in the spray, and the trail of red lights seemed to stretch on forever.

Absently tapping his fingers on his steering wheel, he waited in the traffic.

It was as though the whole city had decided to take the same road as him.

He settled down in his seat, breathing in the scent of leather and fumes.

The rain pounded down onto the roof in a constant background drone.

The car in front moved a few meters, and Ven’fir did the same.

Why did murders always have to happen on nights like these?

Personally, he blamed the novels.

‘It was a dark and stormy night’ had ruined his chances of keeping dry, he thought uncharitably as he inched the car forwards again.

Although, he admitted as they finally got moving with some semblance of speed, it was probably worse for the stiff they’d found.

Pulling off the busy road and onto a side street that was full of the kind of opulent, wealthy houses that Ven’fir had grown up in, he followed the red and blue lights that gathered outside one of the grandest.

Pulling the collar of his coat up to block the rain, he slammed the door shut and hurried towards the crowd, pushing through.

He heard grumbles and someone mutter something under their breath, but he didn’t pause.

Flashing his ID at the grim looking officer holding the line against gawkers, he alighted the steps and headed inside.

The house was immaculately kept.

The marble tiles under his feet were worth a small fortune, and his footsteps sounded muffled as the noise from his shoes was swallowed by heavy curtains and expensive panelling.

The air smelled of cigar smoke and perfume, and he could detect the tang of something metallic.

Heart heavy, he nodded to the officer standing at the bottom of the fancy staircase, who gestured for him to make his way into where he assumed was the lounge.

The room was warm and smoky, cigar and cigarette smoke mingling with that from the remnants of a wood fire that had burned itself out in the hearth.

Low sofas made a square in front of the fireplace, and Ven’fir could see a few officers looking down at something in front of it.

“Detective.” One greeted as he looked up, an older man with a thick moustache and a grim look. His face was stony, but one of the officers had to step away, his hand over his mouth.

The smell of blood was cloying, and it burned the back of his throat.

He nodded, coming around the backs of the sofas to see what the fuss was about.

Oh.

Two bodies were laid out on the expensive rug in front of the fire, side by side.

The rug and surrounding wooden floor were soaked in blood, congealing around the edges in a dark gel.

Ven’fir wrinkled his nose, making sure not to step in it.

The sheer volume was impressive, and a quick glance revealed why.

Both bodies were missing their heads.

They were naked, a blanket thrown to one side and forgotten, soaking up blood as it sat there. They had been arranged to lay with their arms neatly positioned on their bellies in a grotesque parody of a polite pose, as though they were dolls in boxes.

He cast his eyes over the rest of the scene, taking in as much as he could.

There was an open bottle of wine on one of the low tables, one glass empty and the other holding a small amount of dark liquid at the bottom.

Clothes were strewn around the room in a fashion Ven’fir identified as that of passion filled negligence. He knew it well.

Wine, missing clothes, a roaring fire, and a rug. Ven had read this pulp novel before.

The missing heads had been placed neatly side by side directly in front of the raised fireplace, so they looked out over the bodies and towards anyone approaching the door.

Ven’fir hadn’t seen them earlier because of the press of officers, but whoever discovered this macabre scene would have gotten a horrible shock.

The mouths were slack and open unnaturally wide, their eyes blown open and congealing in the air. The wounds at the necks looked clean and deliberate, and blood had dripped sluggishly down the marble to soak into the wood and mix with the pool there.

“Well,” he began quietly, shaking off some of his ill feeling. “When they said it was messy…”

The officer nodded, grim.

“Yeah.” He grunted, and his eyes looked tired. “This is some sick shit.”

Ven’fir sighed, detaching from the gruesome nature of the scene in front of him.

“Any idea who they are?” he asked, peering at the bodies.

They looked bruised from what he could see, indicating that they had fought back.

Interesting.

Clearly, not hard enough to survive.

The officer nodded.

“The man owns the house.” He stated, flicking his notebook open. “Walter Bruce.” He read out, scanning the page.

Ven’fir blinked.

“He’s wearing a wedding band.” He murmured, pointing to the hands that were stiff with rigor mortis. “And so is she.”

He tilted his head.

“Different metals and styles.” He raised his eyebrows, straightening. “My bet is on this not being his wife, and this not being her husband.” He said dryly, glancing over.

The officer looked impressed and nodded.

“We’ve sent officers round to pick up the wife. Apparently, this is not his main residence.” The officer said, tone a little disbelieving.

Ven’fir refrained from telling him that he recalled a second residence, a summer house, and a winter retreat from his own childhood. Best to keep that quiet.

“And her husband?” He asked, gesturing to the woman’s body.

“We’re about to send someone for him.” He murmured. “She’s Thyrisé Quinn. High society lady, apparently.”

Ven’fir nodded, thinking.

“Let me know what they find.” He requested. “I need to look around the scene.”

He looked around him and sighed.

At least he wasn’t out in the rain.

* * *

Ven’fir flicked through the report, a feeling bubbling in his gut.

Two spouses.

One for each half of the adulterous, murdered couple.

What a twist, be thought dully.

Both had been brought to the station for a few questions, and he had read the transcripts.

The wife had, apparently, not cared a whit about her husband’s affair.

It was hardly an affair, she had said with a raised eyebrow, when she had introduced them.

Well, that was certainly something.

She had been teary and composed, the perfect society wife.

The husband was stranger.

Malavai Quinn, from the transcripts, was the perfect picture of the grieving husband. He said the right things, and the officer conducting his interview had been sympathetic to his emotional state, which has been described as ‘stable yet distraught’.

Something about his answers rubbed him the wrong way.

Ven’fir wasn’t sure what it was, but something in his gut made him fix on the perfect textbook responses.

Perhaps meeting the man in person would provide some insight.

He hoped so, he thought as he turned the car into the sweeping driveway of the address on the file.

It was late afternoon and the rain was relentless, the droplets hitting his windscreen like bullets, the sky grey and dark.

The house was a grand one, sitting at the end up the long gravel driveway lined with immaculate box hedges.

There was only a single light on inside as far as he could see, otherwise the house looked as grey and cold as the rain that pelted it.

He took the car as close as he could get to the front door, unwilling to brave the rain for any longer than he had to.

Gravel crunched under his shoes as he hurried to the relative safety of the open porch.

The door was shiny and black and there was a stylised knocker in the shape of a snarling lion, the heavy ring held in its mouth.

He raised his hand to grip it and knock, feeling rather like he was standing in a graveyard.

There was silence for a few moments, and the moment that Ven’fir started to wonder if anyone was going to answer, he heard footsteps.

There was a pause, and the door opened.

The man that stood there looked at Ven’fir with veiled disdain.

He was tall and slender under his dark, tailored clothes, pale skin and dark hair making him fit with the monochrome weather.

Deep blue eyes were tired and had dark circles under them, but the stubble that clung to an angular jaw was as immaculate as the rest of him.

He stood with almost mathematical precision, still and poised.

Ven’fir was suddenly very confused.

Why would anyone look elsewhere for companionship when they had a man like _that_ waiting for them at home?

“Can I help you?” Quinn asked, aloof and polite. His accent was sharp.

Ven’fir shot him the smile that always put people at ease.

Quinn’s expression didn’t change.

Okay, tough customer.

“Detective Ven’fir Polaris,” Ven’fir introduced, keeping up the charm. “If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to ask you a few questions?”

Quinn seemed to regard him for a beat too long, his eyes hard and intense.

“Of course,” he murmured, lowering his gaze, and stepping back to open the door for him.

The change was sudden, from icy disdain to almost shy reticence, as though he was flipping a switch.

It was subtle, but it was strange.

As he stepped in, Ven’fir felt like he was stepping into a morgue.

The house was richly decorated to the point of being almost gaudy, but the temperature was low, and everything felt too still and too quiet.

Quinn took his coat for him, the picture of perfectly polite subservience, and led him through the immaculate hallway to a sitting room that looked like it had come out of a catalogue.

As he sat, prim and stiff on the overstuffed sofa, Ven’fir realised that he didn’t _fit._

He was cold and his eyes were tired, his very being controlled and precise and restrained.

The house was busy and expensive, bright colours and golden accents dominating the rooms. Patterned fabric and expensive ornaments shoved their price tags in his face, but Quinn was... understated. Oddly plain in the face of the luxury and looking like he was supremely uncomfortable in it.

“You have a beautiful home,” Ven’fir murmured, smiling.

Quinn regarded him dispassionately.

“Thank you. My wife takes credit for that.” He demurred before swallowing. “Took, I suppose.”

Interesting.

Ven’fir started with the usual questions, easing into them until he saw Quinn start to relax a little in his presence.

The man was painfully aloof, although not secretive.

Just... shy, it seemed.

Unused to being asked things if his frequent frowns were any indication.

Slowly, Ven’fir started to build a picture of their home life. It wasn’t a pleasant one.

‘My wife travelled a lot.’

‘Thyrisé preferred it if she handled social obligations.’

‘My wife wasn’t keen on the idea.’

‘No, she didn’t like it when I didn’t tell her where I was going.’

‘She liked to check up on me.’

‘A car? Thyrisé said I didn’t need one.’

Still, he was interesting enough that Ven’fir deliberately pressed him into talking about more.

Ven’fir wasn’t stupid.

Quinn's eyes lingered a little too long when he thought Ven’fir wasn’t watching, and the detective started to make more notes to give him an opportunity to watch Quinn watching him.

He didn’t smile often, but when he did, they were small and didn’t always reach his eyes.

At some point, Quinn had offered him a drink and moved out of the room to get it for him, and Ven’fir had allowed himself a look as the other man walked away.

He had legs that went on forever, and Ven’fir could write bad poetry about the rest of his figure.

Hm.

“It's getting late,” Quinn murmured as he fussily repositioned his cup on his saucer. “I'm afraid I might have to ask that you return tomorrow if you still have more questions for me.”

Ven’fir paused and closed his notebook.

Quinn was still and prim, but he glanced at him from under his lashes, his expression hard to read.

Ven’fir smiled, playing along.

“Of course, I didn’t mean to outstay my welcome.” He chuckled, stowing his pen and the notebook in his jacket pocket.

“I'll drop by if I have any follow up questions, is that alright?”

As he walked him to the door, Quinn gave a thin smile.

“Of course. I’m always here.”

Odd that he used ‘here' instead of ‘home’ Ven’fir thought.

Quinn paused, the door open and the night air crept in, refreshing and damp with the rain.

He seemed more relaxed outside the house, and he suited the rain.

“I don’t get out much.” He said, dry.

Ven’fir processed that and nodded. He smiled and held out a hand.

“Thank you for your time, Mr Quinn.”

Quinn gave him a wan smile that did nothing to make him seem less tired and dead. He took his hand to shake, and his grip was stronger than Ven’fir expected.

“It was my pleasure, detective. Safe journey.”

Ven’fir gave him one last smile before hurrying to his car, feeling icy raindrops hit his skin and slip under his collar.

Safely inside his car, he glanced back at the sprawling, expensive house.

In the evening gloom it looked more dead than ever, Quinn standing at the door like a sad, cold spectre.

Something flickering in his gut, Ven’fir fired up the engine and drove away, mind awhirl.

* * *

He went back the next day, fascinated.

Quinn nodded to him when he opened the door, and Ven’fir told himself that he was just being thorough.

The other leads were slowly turning up less and less, some having petered out entirely.

The wife had an alibi, and there were no witnesses.

It was like a ghost had come in, murdered two people and the left without a trace.

Perhaps a ghost with cold, tired eyes and a tiny, rare smile.

* * *

He kept coming back with more questions, and after the third time Quinn smiled at him when he invited him inside.

He ignored how that made his heart sing.

* * *

During one of his questions, he spotted a fading bruise around Quinn's throat when he tilted his head.

Ven’fir said nothing.

* * *

The funerals were held and Ven’fir loitered around the edges of the reception, watching.

He hadn’t been invited but he also hadn’t been told he couldn’t wait at a respectful distance either, so he stood under his umbrella and watched people leave the hall with their heads bowed.

Quinn was the last to leave, his expression cold and closed off.

He was dressed in a heavy dark coat and Ven’fir could see leather gloves on his hands as he gripped the handle of his umbrella.

The rain beat against his own and ran in rivulets down from the pins, and Ven’fir watched as people came up to Quinn, shaking his hand and no doubt expressing their condolences again.

They were all well-heeled and some even had people holding their umbrellas for them.

To Ven’fir, he looked like he would rather be anywhere else, even as he gave them a smile each and a murmured ‘thank you for coming’.

It seemed to take an age for the people to peter out, and Quinn was left alone, watching the last car disappear.

A single, lonely figure standing in the pouring rain.

Ven’fir walked over and ignored how it felt when Quinn looked up only to relax his shoulders when he saw who it was.

“I don’t remember inviting you, detective.” He said with a tiny smile.

Ven’fir grinned.

“I thought of another question.”

Quinn seemed so exhausted and, dare he think it, relieved.

“I can only oblige the law.” He said, gesturing for Ven’fir to lead the way.

“How were you planning on getting home?” he asked, leading him to where his own car was parked.

Quinn looked away.

“Taxi.”

Ven’fir remembered now.

Thyrisé hadn’t liked him having his own car.

He swallowed down a sudden bitterness that bloomed at the back of his tongue.

Malavai got into his car and Ven’fir wanted to laugh.

The man sat ramrod straight, as though he was being taken to the station.

“Mr Quinn, people will think I’m kidnapping you if you look so ready to bolt.” He teased, and Malavai looked surprised at himself, seemingly making himself relax by force of will.

It was endearing.

The drive was quiet, only the droning rain and the sound of the engine in his ears.

It wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable.

Quinn stared out of the window, a downcast, pale figure taking in the rain.

When he pulled up to the house, he swore he felt Quinn's mood dip.

His expression was grim and closed off as he stepped out of the car, not bothering to put his umbrella up.

Ven’fir watched him for a moment before hurrying after him, just about remembering to lock his car.

By the time he caught up, Quinn had the door open and was inviting him inside.

The rain beaded on the shoulders of his coat, and his hair was damp.

“Do you want your usual, or something a bit stronger, detective?” he asked, and Ven’fir detected a hint of a tease there, accompanied by a small smile. There was something sharp about him, an edge that set Ven’fir’s mind turning.

He grinned, hanging his coat up.

“Whatever you think I deserve,” he winked, and Quinn chuckled.

Ven’fir sat on the overstuffed, gaudy sofa again, and wondered what he was doing.

Quinn was... something.

Interesting.

Fascinating.

Attractive.

 _Dangerous_.

Quinn returned with a decanter and two tumblers, pouring out a finger for them both.

“I guess you think I deserve the good stuff.” Ven’fir teased as they clicked their glasses together.

Quinn regarded him over the rim of his glass as he took a sip.

“You've been very thorough in your investigations,” he murmured, “It's the least I can do.”

The alcohol was smooth and burned in the nicest way, and Ven’fir pretended that was the only reason that his belly flared with heat and his skin tingled.

Quinn was smiling at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he did so.

A lock of hair had fallen free and every so often he would brush it back from his face, his cheeks flushed from what Ven’fir hoped was more than just alcohol.

Ven’fir wasn’t an _idiot_.

Quinn looked at him like how he knew he shouldn’t, glances from under his lashes and gazes that paused a little too often on his mouth or his hands.

When he refilled Ven’fir's glass and their fingers touched, he lingered for a moment or five too long.

He was _such_ a bad idea.

When Quinn next refilled his glass, Ven’fir caught his sleeve as he made to walk back to his own seat.

Quinn looked surprise, and Ven’fir wanted him closer.

He smiled and felt fire bloom in his belly as the other man sat next to him.

Another glass and their knees were touching, and Quinn's cheeks were pink.

He set down his glass, leaning forward to set it on a coaster on the low coffee table.

He leaned back, and Ven’fir could feel his warmth seeping through their clothes.

Quinn tipped his head back and closed his eyes, breathing out a slow breath.

“Thank you,” he murmured, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling for a moment before he moved to look Ven’fir in the eye. “For being kind.”

Ven’fir swallowed painfully, setting his own glass aside. His fingertips were numb.

“I'm just doing my job,” he deflected, unsure what he wanted.

Quinn looked at him, and there was that sharpness again, shot through with something warmer.

He didn’t say anything for long enough for it to border on awkward before he shifted and laid a hand on Ven’fir’s thigh.

His hands were cold, and he was awfully close.

He didn’t say anything, but his expression was tense and steady. His eyes flickered down to Ven’fir’s mouth and back up again, and his sharp cheekbones were dusted with pink.

Ven’fir swallowed, and his head swam with contradiction.

“Mr Quinn…” he started, and the other man looked pained.

“Call me Malavai,” he murmured, so soft he was almost inaudible. “Please.”

He paused, and pressed closer. A tiny smile twitched his mouth, and his eyes were dark under his lashes.

“Tell me to stop, detective.” He breathed, and Ven’fir could focus on nothing but how warm his body was and how lovely he looked when he was so close. Sharp, cold, sad, and probably a little unbalanced.

“Your wife’s funeral was _hours ago._ ” He muttered, and immediately realises he had made a mistake. Quinn, still in the clothes he had worn to the ceremony, his shirt still a little damp from the rain and his eyes dark and tired, glared at him.

It was a look he’d never seen on his face before, but it seemed to fit.

Those deep blue eyes sparked, and it was the most emotion he’d seen on him.

It was _beautiful_ and terrifying.

“And you begrudge me some comfort?” he bit out, “Unless I missed you staring at me when I walk, or how you watch me when you take notes?”

Ven’fir thought he had been subtle.

His stomach curled painfully.

“I… no. You didn’t miss that.” He admitted quietly.

Quinn seemed to press even closer in his anger.

“I sit here alone in this house, _every day_.” He shot at him, “It’s suffocating, and I _hate_ it.”

He paused, his expression softening to something painfully fond.

“And then you knocked on my door and you _kept_ knocking on my door and… You made me smile.” He gave a broken little chuckle. “I haven’t smiled in years.”

Ven’fir’s heart was in his mouth, and his whole body tingled.

Quinn closed his eyes as though pained and afraid of the answer be would get.

“Tell me to stop,” he repeated. “And I will.”

Ven’fir had already forgotten how to speak, so instead he reached up to cup his face and pull him in for a kiss.

There was a surprise for a moment, a second or two where Quinn seemed about ready to bolt, but then he melted into the kiss, one hand coming up to grasp Ven’fir’s shirt.

He kissed like he was a drowning man and Ven’fir was air, and he had never had a kiss quite so intense.

His mouth was warm, and he tasted like the drinks they’d had, spicy and bitter.

Ven’fir breathed him in and he smelled like rain and leather, and it was so difficult not to keep kissing him despite his need for air.

Quinn shifted and Ven’fir gasped into his mouth when he straddled him, pressing so close there was only their clothes separating them from each other. Hands wound in his hair and Quinn kissed him desperately, as though he was sure Ven’fir would be torn away from him at any moment.

Ven’fir kissed back, needing to claim something from this lovely thing currently making his thoughts into nonsense and his heart race.

He was the kind of trouble Ven’fir did not need, but he _wanted._

He was like perfection cast in marble and silver, cracked and ruined but so _beautiful_ that it didn’t even matter.

He wanted him, needed to taste this bad idea with the dangerous eyes and the tired smiles.

A hand untucked his shirt and slipped under the hem, making his belly jump as cool fingertips brushed over his skin.

Perhaps Malavai wasn’t just after a kiss.

He wrapped his arms around him, keeping him close and letting his own hands do some exploring of their own, moving over the curve of his spine to dip under his belt and appreciate the curve of his behind. His touching drew a breathy moan from the man on top of him, who went boneless and whose kisses turned languid and filthy.

A hand snuck up to brush cool fingers higher up his chest, and he jumped at the sudden sensation of a pinch, letting out a punched-out noise as fluttery feelings of ‘ _yes’_ suffused every inch of him.

Malavai gave a breathless laugh as Ven’fir arched his back and closed his eyes, bowing his head to lick and bite at Ven’fir’s throat, his mouth hot and wet.

Everything was heat and sensation and vulnerability, and it made his head swim.

Wanting Malavai back so he could kiss him again, he wound a hand in black hair and gently pulled him up from where he was leaving marks on his collarbones.

The older man went willingly, humour dancing in his eyes and looking so wonderfully debauched already, Ven’fir wasn’t sure that he would survive if they had to stop now.

Malavai kissed him again, slow and needy, before pulling away to murmur into his ear.

“You can fuck me here, or we can find the bed.” He breathed, his mouth brushing the shell of Ven’fir’s ear as he spoke, his words tickling as he said them. “Which do you prefer, detective?”

Ven’fir barely had the presence of mind to mutter ‘bed’ before Malavai dragged him back in for another kiss and he was lost.

* * *

He watched Malavai as he slept, his bare skin catching the moonlight streaming in from a crack in the curtains and shining like polished chalcedony.

Greenish purple bruises that were in the last stages of fading marred his skin, and he was curled close as though he was afraid Ven’fir would disappear, even in his sleep.

His throat was covered in the old bruises, and Ven’fir could barely stand to look at how they looked like handprints.

He swallowed hard, wanting nothing more than to hold him close and kiss away the hurt.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about taking a widower to bed in the room he would have shared with his wife, but this room didn’t look like the rest of the house.

The furniture was classy and plain, and the feel of it was vastly different from the almost gaudy luxury of the rest of the interior.

There was a large bookcase and a chair in one corner, full of immaculate yet we’ll worn books.

One wardrobe.

One nightstand.

One chair.

This wasn’t a couple’s room.

Malavai Quinn hadn’t shared a bed with his wife.

He felt a lump in his throat and curled back under the covers, throwing an arm over the other man, who unconsciously pressed closer.

Ven’fir breathed him in and closed his eyes.

* * *

Every time he knocked on the door, everything seemed so much brighter when Malavai answered it with a smile.

Leaving in the morning was painful.

* * *

The case was going cold, and Ven’fir was at his wits end.

* * *

Malavai had stopped wearing his wedding ring and Ven’fir couldn’t help but notice where it had been every time.

* * *

He lay awake, watching Malavai sleep.

The bruises were all but faded now.

The sheets were pooled around his hips, and Ven’fir’s eyes followed the curve of his spine down to his curve of his behind and down his legs.

He sighed and leaned over to press a kiss against his shoulder.

Malavai was deeply asleep and didn’t react, but Ven’fir felt better for it anyway.

He glanced at the desk, and his stomach churned.

Slipping out from under the sheets, he paid no attention to his nakedness as he padded over to the neat desk.

The top held only a neat pot of pens and other stationery, and an empty coaster.

The drawers were locked.

Now why, if Malavai lived alone now, would he need locked drawers on his own desk?

Ven’fir debated for a moment, before he sighed.

He didn’t find the key, but a bobby pin fished from one of the pockets of his jacket that lay on the back of the chair was good enough.

The sinking, nervous feeling in his gut didn’t abate as he violated Malavai's privacy, and the guilt made him feel sick.

With a minute click, the drawer opened.

He glanced back at the bed, and his heart clenched.

The drawer was full of papers, neatly bound and labelled as mundane things like bills or financial records.

Except one.

A letter in an expensive envelope lay under a letter about a newspaper bill, and when he picked it up, he noted that it was heavy.

He turned it over, seeing that it was already open.

_My Dearest Thyrisé_

Written in messy, looping script.

That wasn’t Malavai’s handwriting.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he carefully pulled the heavy paper from the envelope, the scent of an expensive cologne hitting his nose as he unfolded the paper.

With shaking hands, he began to read.

He closed his eyes, and the letter creased in his white knuckled grip.

* * *

Ven’fir waited for him to wake up, watching how the moonlight gave way to sunrise and painted his skin champagne.

He sat in the chair, dressed, and feeling a heavy weight in his belly.

He drank him in, trying to commit every detail to memory.

The curve of his shoulders, the silver sneaking in at his temples, the way his eyelashes brushed his cheeks as he slept.

When he stirred, a fresh wave of nausea washed over him.

Malavai woke slowly, and nothing hurt so much than when Ven’fir saw him reaching for where Ven’fir should have been.

He opened his eyes, dark blue hazy from sleep and confusion.

He sat up, the sheets falling around his hips.

His gaze met Ven’fir’s and Ven’fir refused to look away.

Malavai's eyes dropped to his clothed lap, where the letter lay, clasped on one loose hand.

There was a long pause.

He swallowed, meeting Ven’fir's eyes again with a tiny, sad smile.

He shifted on the bed, slipping off it and taking the sheets with him to cover himself with.

His steps were quiet as he approached, and when he bent down to kiss him, Ven’fir could feel his heartbeat fluttering under his fingertips.

He didn’t apologise, nor did he explain.

He finally broke the kiss, staying close.

“Have breakfast with me?” he asked, giving a fragile smile. His eyes were sad.

Ven’fir’s heart clenched.

“I'd like that.” He murmured, and kissed him again.

* * *

Malavai dressed and tidied the bedroom, looking for all the world like he was simply about to go on holiday and wanted to leave the house neat for his return.

Ven’fir watched him put things away and straighten this and that, fond.

They ate breakfast together, quiet and close.

Malavai washed the dishes, and Ven’fir dried them, unhurried.

They had coffee in the lounge, and it was strange to be back in the room where Malavai had first answered his questions.

Malavai drank his coffee slowly, prim and proper in his manners.

“The affair was the last straw, you know.” He murmured suddenly, breaking the silence as he looked out of the window to the grey outside.

Ven’fir swallowed painfully.

“I guessed as much.” He replied, his head swimming.

Malavai nodded absently, nursing his coffee while he watched the rain.

“Thirteen years of marriage,” he murmured with a small smile. “And I managed three weeks of freedom.”

The ‘with you’ went unsaid.

He finished his coffee and set it down, precise and controlled.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply before he opened his eyes again and smiled at him.

He stretched out his hands for the cuffs, the teasing expression on his face seeming to say, ‘you got me’.

Ven’fir hoped his hands weren’t shaking when he stood up, crossed to where Malavai was sitting, and withdrew the handcuffs from his belt to snap them on his wrists.

Malavai stood up, genteel and poised.

Cuffed and caught, he smiled again and leaned in to press his mouth to Ven’fir’s again, letting it linger.

The last time.

Ven’fir held him close, committing every moment to memory.

Something wet touched his cheek and mingled with their kiss, and he tasted salt.

“Time to go.” He whispered, barely a space between them.

Malavai's eyes were closed and he looked pained as he nodded.

“I won’t make it easy for you,” he promised with a smile, and Ven’fir couldn’t help but feel a twist of something light and warm in his chest as he laughed.

He kissed him, quick and stolen.

“Of course, you won’t.”

* * *

“I’m sorry detective, but your conduct in this case... What were you _thinking_?

Ven... I'm sorry. I really am.

Give me your badge.”

* * *

“Defendant Quinn, please take the stand.”

* * *

Ven’fir’s hands drummed on the steering wheel as he drove, the sunlight peeking through the grey clouds glaring off the puddles in the road.

He turned off the road, not listening to the radio that played some crackling tune.

The gravel drive was just the same, as were the immaculate hedges.

The house looked as he had left it on that morning, just as grey and imposing as ever.

He swallowed painfully as he killed the engine and opened the door, breathing in the cold morning air.

The gravel crunched under his boots, and he pulled his jacket closer to his body.

It felt strange not to be wearing his coat and suit.

Well, he would have to get used to it.

He paused as he raised his hand to the knocker, unsure why he was here.

Before he could make the decision, the door opened.

Ven’fir’s mouth went dry as he paused, drinking him in.

Malavai Quinn was as lovely as ever, the sleeves of his soft looking jumper rolled up to his elbows and his hair slightly ruffled.

He looked like he was in the middle of something, and his expression was one of surprise.

It melted into a smile that crinkled his eyes, and Ven’fir fell for him all over again.

“So,” he ventured. “I heard about the verdict.”

Malavai nodded, and his eyes looked less tired.

He seemed more... alive.

“Lack of evidence,” he murmured, expression faintly sly. “Some of it was inadmissible, considering how it was obtained.”

_‘I won’t make it easy for you.’_

Ven’fir swallowed around the lump in his throat as Malavai tilted his head, his expression close to sympathetic.

“I heard about...”

“Yeah,” Ven’fir interrupted, a lance of hurt not healed over hitting him at the mention. “Turns out sleeping with a suspect and stealing evidence isn’t looked upon with kindness.” He said dryly, a little bitter.

Malavai was silent for a moment, but then he offered a smile.

“Do you want to come inside?” he offered. “For a drink?”

Ven’fir should have said no.

He shouldn’t even be here at all.

His memory flashed back to the bodies on the rug in front of the fire, arranged neatly and perfectly.

He remembered bruises and handprints and dead eyes.

He remembered smiles and warmth.

“Yeah, okay.”

Malavai opened the door and be stepped over the threshold again.

Boxes lined the walls and all the windows were thrown open.

The air was lighter and less oppressive.

Malavai picked his way through the cardboard labyrinth, and Ven’fir followed him to the kitchen.

He caught Ven’fir looking and smiled.

“I always hated this house,” he said lightly, pouring their coffee. “I’m moving.”

Ven’fir’s stomach clenched.

“Oh? Where to?” he asked, accepting a mug. It was the same one Malavai had given him on their last morning together. He took a sip, but it was too hot. He set it aside to cool.

The older man shrugged, leaning against the counter, still managing to stay elegant as he did so.

“I don’t know yet.” He admitted quietly, “Anywhere but here.”

He paused, his eyes watching Ven’fir.

“Come with me.”

His expression was intense and Ven’fir stared at him.

Malavai, not put off by his lack of response, set aside his mug and stepped close, laying a hand on his chest, the heat from the coffee making his hands warm.

He was so close Ven’fir could count his eyelashes. The bruises around his neck were finally gone, faded some time during the trial. On instinct, he settled his own hands on Malavai's waist.

“Please?” he breathed, desperate. “I have money, we can go anywhere. See the world, find somewhere, be _anything_.”

Ven’fir felt on the precipice of something, and he could teeter either way.

He looked into deep blue eyes, seeing everything that made up the man in his arms.

That sad, cold spectre in a dead house that didn’t fit him, with bruises on his skin and a golden shackle on one finger.

Hands that dripped with blood, a mind like a razor and a mouth that barely knew how to smile.

Soft touches and trust, curling into his arms and kissing him like he needed him.

He took a breath, and it seemed to last an eternity as he went against his head and let his heart _jump_.

“Yes.” He breathed, “I’ll come with you.”

The words had barely left his mouth and Malavai was kissing him like he had wanted to do nothing else for months.

Perhaps he hadn’t.

His mouth was warm, and he tasted like coffee and rain.

Ven’fir pulled him close, revelling in the feeling of his body again.

A weight left his shoulders and something heavy and cold uncurled from around his heart, leaving him feeling light.

_I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thyrisé is from For The Sky, and she was the Sith that Quinn previously served who gave him a lot of his issues regarding Sith and power dynamics. She was truly awful person, and the Empire never quite figured out how she died, only that one day she didn't come back and Lieutenant Malavai Quinn led her squad in her absence.
> 
> How... mysterious.


	23. OT3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theron isn't quite sure how to handle the Commander and his lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is literal crack, written in 2 hours because I have the time management skills of a potato.
> 
> For more on when Theron met these two, have a look at Ch. 45 of Droplets.

It began, because of _course_ it did, with a smile.

Specifically, a smile from a Sith.

It had taken a while for Theron to stop being so jumpy around said Sith, and really, who could blame him?

It was _The Wrath_ , a man who had absolutely earned the article in front of his title, who could clear battlefields with his presence alone.

Theron had dealt with a lot of Sith.

Theron had also _dealt_ with a lot of Sith.

He was very aware of his own capabilities and despite having a healthy appreciation for his own talents, was still somewhat apprehensive about being in closed quarters with a Sith that ate fellow Darths for breakfast.

Working with Lana had given him some comfort in regard to what to expect when working with a Sith, as had his various forays undercover.

Granted, the number of Sith he had worked _with_ as anything except a ruse was low, but if anyone in the Republic outside the Jedi could claim to have an idea about Sith, Theron was fairly confident that his name was up there.

The Wrath wasn’t like any other Sith Theron had met.

The reports painted an interesting picture, but not one that Theron was particularly surprised by.

Early life unknown, debuted in Imperial high society at thirteen, graduated the Academy by way of competitive murder trial, apprenticed under Darth Baras, acted as his enforcer… blah blah blah-

And then the disgrace. Theron had been involved in enough smear campaigns to know one when he saw one and the one led by Darth Baras had been particularly unsubtle.

He had read through some of the archived holonet postings.

Brutal.

Baras had ended up dead somehow (they were still fuzzy on that) and his apprentice was suddenly back in the good books with a new moniker and the kind of reputation that had people wetting their robes when his name was mentioned.

The part of his file that detailed personality was a mess, with conflicting reports and advice that basically boiled down to ‘don’t you _dare’_ regarding information extraction via… unconventional methods.

So, Theron was fairly sure he knew what to expect.

Sweeping into the Manaan safehouse, Theron had him pegged as a typical megalomaniac Sith, albeit one of the less immediately insane ones.

Black, intimidating armour? Check.

Creepy Sith eyes? Check.

The kind of presence that made his skin prickle? Check.

Dripping with Drama like his entrance hadn’t already been extra enough? Check and check.

What the reports _hadn’t_ mentioned was that tall, green, and jacked came with a _shadow_.

The shadow was tall and slender, a study in monochrome patriotism save for dark blue eyes and the bars of a Captain on his breast.

He trailed behind the Sith like a heeling dog eager to keep up with it’s beloved master, and Theron despaired at him.

The ice-cold ones were not his forte. Theron needed personality to play off when he was ingratiating himself, and the promise of a blank wall was not a useful one.

At least the Twi’lek was friendly.

When he had been running on adrenaline and not much else, a stolen blaster in his hands and running full tilt out of Revan’s compound, feeling that prickle of heat and heavy power had been more welcome than he had expected.

An overwhelming feeling of ‘the cavalry is here’ had flooded his brain, and he supposed he should have been concerned that the sight of the Wrath with sabers ignited, hands literally dripping with gore and with fury on his face as he gutted a terrified Revanite filled him with relief instead of terror.

Theron had almost missed the shadow until a Revanite went down mid swing, a smoking hole sitting perfectly between his eyes.

The Wrath had torn the enemy apart to get to him, eyes glowing in the gloom in a way that would have made any Jedi lose their nerve.

The expression of fury melted away the moment he saw Theron, and that too was dangerous.

Getting out had been it’s own adventure, but when Theron’s leg had finally buckled and sent him to the floor in a pained, cursing heap, he hadn’t been in a position to complain as the Wrath had leaned down, picked him up like he weighed nothing, and winked at him before promptly carrying him out.

Yes, it had been embarrassing.

Yes, Theron had protested and then hit him.

No, Theron had not managed to regain his dignity.

Yes, he had quite liked it.

The shadow, who he should probably have called by his name but kriff it Theron _never_ got to name things, began fussing over him the moment the Wrath had stepped out of the medbay to find Lana.

Theron had tried to brush him off because, seriously, he was a grown man and the weird Imperial kind of freaked him out, but had been unceremoniously held down and treated anyway.

The medic has the stare of a mother-Krayt, and Theron was wise enough to know when he was beaten.

It was a frankly surreal experience, having Captain treat him while he listened to the Wrath steadily gaining volume as he argued with Lana.

He sounded _furious._

If he were Lana, he would have been breaking out the grovelling right about now, because that usually cheerful voice turned to rage was _terrifying_.

“He’s angry.” The shadow murmured, and Theron gave him a look that said ‘no shit’.

Theron was kriffing angry too.

The Captain, gloves off and whose cold hands were pleasant against the bruises blossoming over Theron’s skin, rubbed kolto gel over the worst of the scrapes. His touches were firm and professional, but the feeling of gentle hands on him was distracting.

The Captain pretended not to see his look.

“I told you before that he likes you,” he murmured as he inspected the cut over Theron’s eye. He was very close, and Theron ignored how nice it was to have someone touch him softly, even if it was only a medic. “He was worried about you.”

Considering the man had all but threatened him only a few weeks prior, it was a strange change.

Captain Quinn radiated a unique kind of… bland intensity.

It was a wholly unique phenomenon that Theron wasn’t entirely comfortable with, so he stayed quiet and let Quinn continue his ministrations.

It was purely practical, he told himself.

Patching himself up was less effective than having a fully trained medic do so.

It continued to be purely practical as he kept coming back as he slowly healed, cool hands soothing his battered skin.

* * *

Thinking back on it now, Theron was sure that he had been a little oblivious.

His excuse was that he was dealing with a lot at the time, and a Sith being weirdly friendly at him was not high on his priority list.

The Wrath had turned into The Outlander and then The Commander, somehow not losing that article that fit him so well.

He went from ‘weird Sith’ to ‘friend’ more quickly, and Theron didn’t really think much about a few flirty lines when the man was looking so lost without his shadow.

Then the shadow turned up in the docking bay and Theron was privy to the sight of a Sith shedding tears, something he had _never_ thought he would witness.

The reunion had been something out of a holomovie, but it had been disgustingly cute and a little voice that sounded like Lana whispered that it was a wonderful morale booster for the Alliance as a whole.

Gossip and recounts of the event flew around the base like moths, and Theron got a little sick of hearing about it.

The fact that the Commander and his shadow disappeared to the Commander’s quarters for several _days_ afterwards was a little more telling than he was comfortable with, and he tried not to think about it.

It was, after all, none of his business.

He kept telling himself that as he tried awfully hard to concentrate on the report he was explaining, and not on how the Commander’s knee was touching his.

Theron was an adult.

Depressingly, he had been an adult for a _long time_.

He could deal with knees.

“So, uh- troop movements imply that the supply lines are not as mobile as they-um, as they want us to believe.” He managed, trying extremely hard not to look at where the Commander was staring at him, a smile on his face.

The Mirialan’s smile was a funny thing anyway considering his species double canines, but that was not the kind of smile that a married man would send to his co-worker.

The knee was warm, and Theron couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“Go on Theron,” the Commander murmured, smile widening. “I’m listening.”

Theron sent an almost desperate look at Lana, who closed her eyes and made an impressive show of being Above This Nonsense.

When the meeting was finally over and the Commander had sauntered out with a smile and a promise to find Theron if he had any more questions, Theron stared after him.

“Was it me or was that _really_ weird?” he asked Lana, warmth tingling his fingertips.

She stared at him before rolling her eyes.

“ _Honestly_ , Theron.” She muttered, before gathering her effects and leaving him.

He stared after her, nonplussed.

“What?”

* * *

They were in the cantina the next time Theron’s brain tied itself in knots.

The Commander was there, and Theron should really have started calling him by his first name like he’d been asked to do, but something about that felt weird.

They were celebrating something small and Theron had almost forgotten about his weird _thing_.

The Major and the Commander were both present, and while they weren’t excessively couple-y, Theron couldn’t help but keep glancing at the way the Commander brushed his fingers over the officers hands, and how the Major leaned into him.

Lana and Koth were bickering about something, and Theron tried to listen to them.

A murmur of ‘I’ll get you a drink’ and a squeeze of a hand had the Major heading for the bar for them, and Theron felt quite alone on that side of the table with only the Commander for company.

Not that he was bad company.

Not at all.

He smiled at Theron.

“Not drinking tonight?” he asked, and even that innocuous question put him on guard.

He shot him a small smile, ignoring how his belly squirmed.

“No, I’ve got a briefing with Jorgan early tomorrow morning.” He demurred, feeling naked under that gaze.

“Pity,” the Commander murmured, his eyes fixed on Theron. It was an intense experience, being the subject of that attention, and Theron hadn’t gotten more used to it in the years they had known each other. “It’s nice to see you… letting loose.”

The words themselves weren’t salacious, but the tone they were said in certainly was.

Theron swallowed, trying to figure out what was _happening_.

“Me? Oh, I’m a regular party animal.” He joked, and Lana at least gave him the courtesy of a laugh.

It might have been at _him_ and not his joke, but he would take it.

The Sith’s smile widened by a few teeth.

“I’ll bet.” He purred, and there was no mistaking _that._

He was _married_.

His partner was getting him a drink at the bar.

Sith or no, Theron was surprised.

Perhaps he’d judged the Commander wrong.

He frowned, opening his mouth to blurt out something inadvisable.

A glass was set down in front of him.

He blinked, peering at it.

Water, apparently.

The Major gave him a tiny, reserved smile and Theron’s heart clenched.

“I saw you weren’t drinking.” the man murmured, tilting his head a little.

Oh.

That was strangely thoughtful of him.

Theron _couldn’t_ tell him.

Oh, _kriff_.

* * *

Theron didn’t like being in the medbay.

Firstly, it was because he or someone else was hurt, and that was never a good thing.

Secondly, medics _fussed_.

He’d had quite enough of-

“Agent Shan, what a surprise.”

Theron blinked.

Major Quinn was standing there, latex gloves on his hands and dressed in scrubs.

His beady stare was as penetrating as it had been when they had first met, and the faint web of scars over the left side of his face didn’t soften his look at all.

Not that Theron wanted him to look soft.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked, mouth working faster than his brain.

He was usually better at this, but something about the Major threw him off.

The man tilted his head, a habit that Theron had noted.

“I’m volunteering to train some of the new recruits.” He explained, standing so stiffly he was almost at parade rest. “Our medical personnel are busy enough without needing to do training, and I’m a fully qualified field medic.”

He seemed to give an elegant little shrug.

“It’s not so bad.”

He peered at Theron, and suddenly Theron felt very exposed under his gaze.

“Are you injured, Agent Shan?”

Theron blinked at him, the words taking a moment to filter through.

“Just some scrapes, but I wanted to get one checked out.” He admitted. “I think I caught myself on some kind of plant, but I didn’t recognise it.”

Quinn nodded like that made perfect sense and proceeded to walk over and begin examining him.

Theron, having expected a brush off or a small lecture, jumped as cool hands rested on his arm.

Quinn gave him a look.

“Stay _still_ , Agent Shan.”

Feeling like he had been scolded by Master Zho, he shut his mouth.

Quinn’s hands were firm and cold.

“Looks like it just needs a clean and some kolto,” the Imperial murmured, focused.

Theron could tell him.

Theron _should_ tell him.

He had nice hands.

Walking back to his room with a fresh kolto patch on his cut and a heavy feeling of guilt in his belly, Theron admitted that he probably should have told him.

* * *

“Commander-“

“Call me Ven’fir, Theron. I’m starting to think you don’t like me.”

“Uh- yeah. Sorry, Command- Ven’fir.”

“Come on, let’s talk about the reports over a drink. Shall we?”

“I- sure.”

* * *

Theron woke up with a start.

He had never been much of a heavy sleeper, and years of work as an intelligence agent had rid of him of the capacity to really go under.

For a moment, adrenaline flooded his system before his implants kicked in and regulated it.

This wasn’t his bedroom.

He was warm, and an arm was slung over his waist, heavy and warm.

Horror clenching his belly, he forced himself to turn his head.

A mop of dark curls resting on the pillow, the man they crowned splayed out face down as he slept. His arm was indeed thrown over Theron’s belly, and both of them were very, _very_ naked.

Oh.

Oh _no_.

Okay, things could be worse.

He could be… dead, or something.

He was highly likely to become dead very soon, but he ignored that thought.

Ven’fir was dead to the world it seemed, and Theron couldn’t help but run his eyes over his body.

Well, at least he would die knowing exactly what that felt like under his hands.

Theron was furiously planning his escape and subsequent change of identity when he heard the tell-tale rattle of the door handle.

Thoughts flying out of the window, he attempted to execute a combat roll off the bed and onto the floor where he could hide himself under the frame.

Sadly, the arms slung over him prevented optimal momentum and instead of rolling off the bed to land in a crouch and then hide, he rolled, got caught in the sheets, fell off the bed and hung there in a bizarre hammock with one leg out and flailing as the door opened.

Panic setting in, he thrashed a bit to escape his cotton scented prison, which dislodged a bit of sheet and sent him to the floor with a painful thump.

Disorientated and panicked, he managed to extricate himself from the sheet just as the door opened.

Horrified, he froze.

Malavai Quinn stared at him, his expression one of surprise.

He carried a little bag of something, and he looked like he was coming home after a long day.

Theron stared at him.

He stared at Theron.

“It’s not what it looks like?” Theron tried, and Quinn continued to stare.

Oh kriff.

He was going to be murdered right here, naked and with a bruised tailbone, all because he couldn’t keep it in his pants when an attractive man propositioned him after flirting with him for years.

An attractive _married_ man.

A mumble from the bed had them both glancing over.

Ven’fir looked up, bleary.

“Mal!” he beamed; sleepy eyes pleased.

_Double kriff._

The Commander was going to be murdered by his own spouse, and _then_ where would they be?

Quinn looked from Ven’fir to Theron and back again.

“Ven’fir,” he began, tone measured. “Why is Theron naked on our floor?”

Theron cringed.

Ven’fir blinked and peered over the edge of the bed at him.

“Why _are_ you down there?” he asked, baffled. “I don’t hog the sheets _that_ much, do I?”

Theron wasn’t really capable of words.

“Um- I- I’m really sorry?” he tried, and it came out more like a question.

Something in Quinn’s expression changed, and he turned a glare on Ven’fir.

“You.” He accused, and Theron winced. Ven’fir looked bemused.

He was a braver man than Theron was.

“Me?” the Sith repeated, amused.

Quinn scowled.

“You _cheated.”_

Theron wanted to melt into the floor.

He was a homewrecker.

Oh kriff, he had broken up a marriage and he wasn’t even on a mission.

The guilt was wating him alive-

“I can’t believe you brought him to bed and you didn’t wait for me.”

Wait-what.

Theron’s brain blinked offline for a moment, rebooted, and then slowly came back online.

Ven’fir was looking chagrined.

“You were taking ages.” He defended. “I _am_ sorry.”

Theron stared.

Quinn glanced at him.

“I’m still not clear why you’re on the floor.” he admitted.

“I- what’s happening?” Theron managed, and that was about all he could process.

Quinn frowned.

“What do you mean ‘what’s happening’?” he asked, baffled. “You slept with him, right?”

Theron cringed.

“I didn’t mean to.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow.

“Tripped and fell, did you?” he asked, dry as the Tattooine desert.

Ven’fir, looking rather guilty, gave them both a hopeful, boyish smile.

“I… might not have told him, I realise?”

Two sets of eyes, one confused and one exasperated, settled on the Sith.

“ _Ven’fir_.” Quinn sighed.

“Told me what?” Theron demanded, so confused he wanted to explode.

Quinn sighed, walked over, and ignoring Theron’s flinch, leaned down and helped him up.

It was more like being bodily hauled up than helped, but Theron was trying to be optimistic.

He landed on the bed with a little bounce, trying to cover up.

Warm hands on his back made him jump, and he glanced over to see Ven’fir draping himself over him.

He wanted to be furious at the Sith and he was a bit, but he was more upset with himself and confused at the situation.

The Sith was heavy and warm, and the way he pressed kisses to Theron’s shoulders was nice.

“We like you,” Ven’fir murmured in his ear as he paused in his ministrations. “I kind of assumed you realised.”

Another stall, and Theron’s brain really couldn’t handle this.

“What?”

Quinn sighed, his cheeks pink.

“Ven’fir likes you.” He said, frankly. “He has done for a while.”

He glanced away, his blush deepening.

“I… don’t mind your company, either.”

Ven’fir chuckled and that sound did things to Theron, sending a tingle up his spine.

“We thought,” the Sith continued. “That you might like to… join us. You know, if you wanted to.”

“Join you?” Theron repeated, feeling like he was acting in a bizarre dream. “Like… Wait, so you’re not going to kill me?”

Quinn gave a fond, amused snort.

“No, I’m not going to kill you.” He reassured dryly. “Ven’fir… convinced me to give you a chance.”

Pink cheeked, he came to sit on the side of the bed, prim and awkward.

Ven’fir gave him a squeeze and one arm snaked over to brush over the back of Malavai’s hand. Their rings caught the light.

Theron shook his head, as if trying to dislodge cobwebs.

“You two want to what, have a threesome with me?”

Quinn went bright red, but Ven’fir laughed.

“Yeah, among other things.” He chuckled. “I want to stress that this isn’t just sex. We really, really like you, Theron.”

Well, several things now made a whole lot more sense.

Honestly, this was almost relieving, considering the scenarios that had crossed his mind earlier.

Cold fingertips brushed his hand and he glanced down to see Quinn shyly smiling at him, red cheeked.

Things slotted into place like pieces of a particularly confusing, frustrating puzzle.

“We’ll need to talk about this.” He warned Ven’fir, and the Sith just grinned, nodding.

“Sure.” He agreed easily, and Theron tried to reconcile him with the stranger with a reputation that had walked into their safehouse on Manaan. “Can we fuck now?”

Heat spread over Theron’s cheeks, and he glanced at Malavai, who looked exasperated.

“Is he always like this?” he asked, a little awkward as to how to proceed but feeling something light and warm bloom in his belly.

Malavai nodded, fond.

“You’ll get used to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then they all fell into bed together, the end.
> 
> In game, Ven romanced Theron, having immediately fallen head over heels for him during the Revan debacle. ^_^


	24. Pirate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to Chapter 1. After being cut off from the family funds, Ven'fir and Malavai's grand tour of the galaxy is cut painfully short. Things are looking grim, and they need credits.

There were some things, Malavai mused as he nursed his drink, that really were the same the galaxy over.

For example, the seedy bar.

This one was very much like the ones back on Earth, all dim lighting and questionable cleanliness.

The crowd was similar too, with everyone from surly regulars who stuck together to bawdy locals that thought they were hot shit.

Of course, _this_ bar had clientele that were a little more varied than on his home planet.

If Malavai had thought Ven’fir was fascinating when the man had crash landed on Earth all those years ago, the sheer variety of life in the galaxy had truly blown him away.

Still, he had gotten rather used to it.

After their little holiday on Earth, Ven’fir had cheerfully informed him that a friend of his was going to swing by Earth and pick them up.

Baffled and a little apprehensive, Malavai had resolved to just sort of go with it.

Ven’fir’s friend has been short, blue and loud, and she had rubbed Malavai the wrong way from the moment they had met.

Vette liked to needle him, and her curiosity at finally getting to meet a real-life human had worn thin quickly.

Ven’fir had been affectionate and excited, and had been eager to introduce Malavai to galactic society.

It had been an overwhelming debut.

He swore his head still hurt from the information overload, although that could have been residual aches from his translation implant.

He sighed, taking a sip of something that was so black it resembled liquid void. The name of his drink was pronounced in a series of clicks his human mouth was surprisingly suited to mimic, and it was one of his newfound favourites. Incongruously, it tasted like salted caramel.

“Hey pretty thing, what are _you_?”

Malavai’s mood dipped.

That was another thing about seedy bars the galaxy over.

Assholes.

He glanced at the speaker, a person with brilliantly purple skin and the twin head tails of Vette's people. The Twi’lek was male and had purred the question at him as he leaned on the bar, giving a smile that was probably supposed to be charming, but instead more resembled a leer. He was tall and gangly, wearing some kind of logo on the arm of his too-big jacket. By his swagger, Malavai assumed that he thought himself rather cool.

Malavai gave him a look that plainly said ‘get spaced’.

“Not interested.” He replied plainly, going back to his drink.

The twi'lek was not to be dissuaded.

“I’ve not heard of that species before.” He winked.

Malavai sighed.

Hilarious.

The purple alien gave him a once over.

“I’ve not seen you in here before, pretty thing.” He murmured. Behind him, Malavai noted a small group watching them, amused. Judging by their matching jackets, he assumed them to be the other man’s crewmates.

Malavai took another sip of his drink.

“Don’t get used to it.” He muttered dryly.

The twi'lek grinned, sliding closer.

Malavai felt the comforting weight of the blaster at his hip and the various blades on his person.

“Let me buy you a drink. Another uh, black drink thing?” the man asked, attempting the name of the drink and failing.

Malavai corrected his pronunciation.

“No.” He shut down. Where was Ven’fir? He was taking far too long.

A hand reached out to touch him and, reacting without thinking, he grabbed the wrist.

The twi'lek started, surprised.

Malavai pinned him with a glare.

“Touch me,” he growled lowly, narrowing his eyes and watching as those head tails began to curl in discomfort. He squeezed harder, feeling wrist bones creak under his grip. “And you lose this hand. Do you understand?”

The alien cursed; green eyes wide.

“Okay, okay!” he agreed hurriedly, trying to pull his arm back. “No touching!”

With a last warning squeeze, Malavai let him go, and the man stumbled back, clutching his wrist.

The man shot a filthy glare at him.

“What the kriff is wrong with you?!” he spluttered, his friends making their way over, frowning at Malavai’s treatment of their comrade.

Malavai raised an eyebrow, finishing his drink.

“Is my translator glitching?” he asked, tone dry. “I believe I said ‘no’.”

“You almost broke my wrist!” he stressed, waving the offending limb at Malavai.

His friends were crowding around him, glaring. Various species and genders, more than Malavai could discern in such lighting.

“I’m beginning to regret the ‘almost’.” He murmured, and the bartender sniggered as she cleaned a stein. He speared the crew with a look that had worked brilliantly when he was still in the military.

It was a combination of ‘I will make your life a living hell’ and ‘You are something I scraped off my boot’ that was particularly effective with the ones that had been there just long enough to know him.

Malavai never claimed to be a _nice_ person.

The twi’lek’s lekku curled in anger, and Malavai was getting better at interpreting those movements. The online courses were paying off.

Of course, the first coming towards his face was probably more of a giveaway, but that was so _obvious_.

The Twi’lek was clearly not trained for close combat, and although Malavai was hardly a master at it, he refused to be anything less than top-notch.

Moving out of the way of the sloppy punch, he grabbed the wrist and forced it back while he used their momentum to slam the man into the bar, face down. A pained cry was forced from the alien’s lungs, and Malavai idly wondered why people were _stupid_.

Just to be petty, he pulled the arm back a little further, and the twi’lek gave a howl of pain.

By now, the whole bar was watching, a few laughs and murmurs making sure silence was kept at bay.

Malavai glanced at the man’s compatriots.

“Does someone want to take responsibility for this waste of perfectly good air?” he asked, tone clipped and bored. The twi’lek struggled and then whimpered as Malavai put pressure on his arm again. Silence. “No one? Do I need to find out who you fly for and contact _them_?”

One of the crewmates, a shy looking alien with horns and facial tattoos, actually raised her hand as if asking permission to speak.

Internally amused, he gave her a genteel nod to go ahead.

“Uh, _he’s_ our Captain. Um, sir.”

Malavai blinked at the twi’lek squirming in his hold, his cheek smooshed against the questionable surface of the bar.

Before he could speak, a shadow fell over him and the crew in front of him looked at something over his shoulder.

“I see you’re settling in, darling.”

Malavai rolled his eyes.

“ _Some people_ don’t understand the word ‘no’.” he explained, annoyed. “Or that letting their ego swing their fists is asking for pain.”

Malavai glanced back, softening at the sight of Ven’fir smiling at him, amused.

“Are you done?”

The green alien nodded, grinning.

“Yeah. My guy says that I should look for a Captain Talrassin.”

Awkward shuffling.

The twi’lek whose face must have been numb by now, made a muffled noise and Malavai absently hit his head against the bar to shut him up. He moaned in pain.

The shy zabrak winced.

“Uh, that’s him.”

Malavai blinked.

He glanced down at the twi’lek.

Even Ven’fir was silent for a moment.

“Well, that’s awkward.” He murmured. “I guess we won’t be working with you on the escort job then.”

He shrugged and tapped Malavai on the shoulder to get him to let the man up.

Irritated, Malavai did so, moving to stand next to his partner.

He folded his arms, a contrast to Ven’fir’s easy grin.

The twi’lek, now identified as Captain Talrassin, stumbled to his feet and had to be propped up by a few concerned members of his crew.

Angrily, he straightened his booze-soaked jacket. His cheek was dark and painful looking, and his arm wasn’t moving properly.

“You’re with this psychopath?” he asked Ven’fir, snarling his words. “I’m part of the Cartel, I’ll make sure you’ll never find work again! I’ll have you blacklisted for life!”

Malavai frowned.

He had been diagnosed with a decent number of things over the years, but psychopathy wasn’t one of them.

Ven’fir grinned at him, and Talrassin seemed to sense that it wasn’t the non-threatening kind of smile.

Ven’fir stepped forward and rested his hand on the twi’lek’s bad shoulder. The man winced, looking up at the Mirialan. Ven’fir had a significant physical presence, and it showed.

“Some advice for you, friend.” He began, his tone genial. Malavai couldn’t help a mean little smile at the tremor of unease that ran through the Captain and his crew. “If someone looks like they’re not interested, sounds like they’re not interested, and says they're not interested... they’re probably not interested.”

Ven’fir paused, still smiling.

“Take care, Captain.” He murmured. “Stay safe out there.”

Talrassin managed a shaken, wide eyed nod.

Malavai swiped his credit stick over the payment node as they left.

Dramatic exits were no excuse not to pay your tab.

They walked in silence through the space station, heading for the ship.

He could sense Ven’fir was thinking, and he stayed quiet.

They navigated through the winding catwalks that made up Mek-Sha, ignoring the neon signs and flashing advertisements for everything from Rattataki noodles to lekku buffing services.

When the airlock had closed on them, and they were safely ensconced in the ship, they looked at each other.

“Well,” Malavai began, “That could have gone better.”

Ven’fir snickered, leaning against the bulkhead.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “But that guy was an asshole.”

Malavai hummed.

“He was.”

A pause.

“How much do we have left?” Ven’fir asked, voice small.

“Two thousand credits, give or take.” Malavai supplied, tiredness seeping into his voice.

Ven’fir swallowed.

“That’s about half a tank of fuel.”

“Don’t forget about docking fees, food, new CO2 scrubbers, maintenance, the-“

“I know.”

Malavai fell quiet, seeing Ven’fir’s troubled expression.

Sighing, he stepped close, and gently cupped his cheek. Grey eyes, worried and tired, met his own.

He leaned in and rested his forehead against Ven’fir’s, relishing the warmth radiating off him.

“We’ll work something out.” He assured, guilt eating at his belly. “I’m sorry.”

Ven’fir sighed, his hands moving to rest on Malavai’s waist.

“Don’t be.” He murmured. “You couldn’t have known, and he was hassling you.”

He closed his eyes.

“I’m the one who should be sorry. I sold you an adventure around the galaxy, but what you got was… this.”

Malavai’s heart clenched. Poor Ven’fir couldn’t have known he would end up disowned and with almost nothing to his name a mere year after picking Malavai up. That had been almost two years ago, and their funds had dwindled to almost nothing.

“You didn’t sell me anything,” he breathed. “I wanted to come with you because of _you._ ”

He smiled, unconvincing and awkward, but Ven’fir seemed to appreciate it.

“You’re tired. Head to bed, and I’ll join you when I’ve finished here.” Malavai suggested, running his thumb over Ven’fir’s cheek. “We’ll sort something in the morning, alright?”

Ven’fir looked at him for a few moments, before he pulled back and nodded, an unsteady little smile playing about the corners of his mouth.

He leaned in and wrapped his arms around Malavai in a tight hug, and Malavai hugged him back.

He breathed him in, closing his eyes.

They stood there for a while, until Ven’fir pulled back.

He looked a little better, and he smiled as he kissed Malavai on the cheek.

“Don’t be too long, yeah?” he murmured, hopeful.

Malavai smiled for him, his touch lingering.

“I won’t.” he promised.

* * *

When Ven’fir had finished in the ‘fresher and had gone to bed, Malavai had a plan.

He sat with the holopad on his lap, and, once he had checked Ven’fir was fully asleep, got to work.

He checked and Talrassin hadn’t been bluffing. Already, connections were going dark on them.

Malavai shouldn’t have expected anything less, really.

He referenced, cross checked and researched.

He planned.

By the time the ambient lighting was turning pale yellow to simulate a sunrise, he set his holopad aside with a sense of purpose.

He slipped into bed, exhausted and nervous, and pressed close to Ven’fir.

The other man didn’t move, too deeply asleep to notice anything less than a poke to the face, and Malavai cuddled up to him.

His body relaxing into warmth and comfort, he allowed himself a little smile.

A few more days research, and he would have something.

* * *

Ven’fir blinked.

Malavai tried not to fidget.

“You…” Ven’fir started. “You want to _rob_ a _convoy_?”

Malavai averted his eyes.

“Well, that makes it sound very dramatic.” He murmured. “But... yes.”

Ven’fir stared at him.

“Malavai,” he began delicately, “You realise that that’s you know, a _crime?_ ”

Malavai couldn’t help rolling his eyes.

“I’m not an _idiot_ , Ven.” He reminded. “Considering our position, I think I’ve stopped caring.” He admitted.

Ven’fir winced, and Malavai felt bad for bringing it up. He sighed.

“Your family made sure we wouldn’t be employed by anyone legitimate after they cut you off,” he murmured, “And now we’re blacklisted from the underworld too.”

Ven’fir looked pained.

Malavai forged on.

“But if neither side of the law will let us _earn_ credits, perhaps it’s time to _take_ instead.” He put forward, quiet. “Check the target.”

Ven’fir frowned and did so.

His eyebrows rose.

“Mal…” he breathed, eyes widening. “Is this…?”

Malavai gave him a smile, pleased with himself despite the situation.

“This is the convoy that we were going to escort with Talrassin.” Ven’fir said as he looked up. “You want to rob it from under his nose?”

Malavai shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant while inside he was fretting something fierce.

“Yeah.”

Ven’fir was silent for a few moments.

“You think we can?”

Malavai nodded.

“I’ve got military training and you’re _you._ ”

Ven’fir, a testament to his surprise, didn’t even taker the opportunity to pad out his ego.

Slowly, a smile spread over his face.

He surged forwards to take Malavai into his arms and suddenly he was kissing him, hard and fiery.

Malavai smiled into the kiss, and wound his arms around the other man, affection blazing in his blood.

“So, that’s a yes?” he asked when they parted for air, their noses touching. Ven’fir’s expression was open and he looked at Malavai like he was amazed by him.

“Let’s take them for all they’ve got.” He whispered, before he kissed him again.

* * *

If they were being honest, it was a close one.

The money ran dry during the preparations, and if not for Ven’fir’s supply of instant Rattataki noodles, they would have gone into their plan starving.

The CO2 scrubbers warning light was on, as were half a dozen others on the Fury’s control panel, and they only had a quarter of a tank of fuel left.

Malavai was fucking sick of those stupid noodles.

He had always been a bit of a foodie, and _instant noodles_ were an affront.

Ven’fir had been ready, practically vibrating with excitement.

His blaster was at his hip, and his favoured blades hunt from his belt.

He looked good in the tactical armour they had picked up.

Malavai kissed him, lingering and slow, before they dropped out of hyperspace and everything was a whirlwind after that.

Ven’fir always said Malavai had picked up piloting quickly, but he was still nervous.

He didn’t need to be.

Talrassin’s ships were expensive and fancy, but they had _not_ been expecting to be attacked on their secure route.

Malavai snorted.

Secure his arse.

The fact that they forgot they had given Ven’fir a copy of the route before it kicked off in the bar meant that were practically _begging_ to be found.

Ven’fir had said Malavai flew like a demon, and Malavai had assumed he was just being nice.

Ven was like that.

After this, he might just believe it.

The poor transport ship surrendered immediately, as soon as they saw that Talrassin’s two escorts were dead in the water.

It might have been more prudent to space them, blow holes in their hulls and let the void take care of the rest.

Malavai was a cold man, but he wasn’t _that_ heartless.

Not yet anyway.

He had checked his new (well, second hand) rifle, accepted one last kiss from Ven’fir before they pulled their masks on, and ignored his nervousness as they boarded.

He felt a little like Bonny and Clyde right now, but the Earth reference would be lost on Ven’fir. He would have to get him to watch the movie, one day.

The next part was _easy_.

Threaten the crew, keep them subdued and load the cargo.

The crew, civilian smugglers with a meagre security detail, had been relying on Talrassin to protect them.

Malavai smiled under his mask when he thought about the blow to the man’s reputation.

Ven’fir had been _perfect._

He was better at this part than Malavai, and it was a genuine pleasure to watch him work.

He commanded attention like he breathed, and his blades were only bloodied when a foolish smuggler had rushed him.

The sound of metal on metal sounded and in a glimmer of silver, the woman was howling, her arm running red with blood and her blaster falling to the floor.

Ven’fir was a _monster_ with those swords, and Malavai wanted him.

Thankfully, he could _have_ him.

The moment they jumped to hyperspace and he could let the onboard navigation take over, he had stood up, backed Ven’fir up to the bulkhead and pulled him in for a scorching kiss.

High on adrenaline, victory and a plan well executed, Malavai was a rush of feeling.

Ven’fir kissed him back just as hard, and the two of them were far too keyed up to think straight.

Air became an issue, and they had to part for a moment.

“We did it,” Ven’fir panted, his eyes shining and looking more beautiful than Malavai had ever seen him. He looked so alive; it was breath-taking.

Malavai pressed close, in the mood for more. He wasn’t done with excitement yet. Adrenaline, relief, the feeling of saying a huge ‘fuck you’ to anyone who thought he and Ven would go quietly into the night, it was heady.

“We need to offload it, first.” He reminded, smiling. “But our buyer seemed solid.”

Ven’fir’s hands on his hips were warm, even through the gloves and the tac gear.

“Want to celebrate?” The alien murmured, showing sharp teeth in his smile.

Something electric shivered in Malavai’s belly, and he shifted his hips in a way that he knew drove Ven’fir mad.

The man groaned, his fingers digging into Malavai’s hips and no doubt leaving faint marks.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he breathed, his mouth brushing Malavai’s neck, where he proceeded to kiss and bite. “How long until we drop out of hyperspace?”

Mental calculations flew across Malavai's mind without conscious input, a trait that was both useful and annoying.

“The buy point is pretty close.” He managed, seeing stars as Ven’fir dragged his teeth over the skin of Malavai's throat. “Half an hour.”

Ven’fir grinned against him, running his tongue over the bites to soothe them and send Malavai squirming.

“I can work with that.” He muttered, and Malavai smiled back, his eyes closed and his skin tingling.

His hands moved to play with the heavy belt on Ven’fir’s tac gear, and the man groaned when he put pressure there. They didn’t have the time for leisured play, but he was too impatient for it anyway.

Malavai was drunk on success and a little bit of power.

Prolonging the sensation seemed fun.

With a shiver, he dropped to his knees.

Ven’fir hitched a breath, watching Malavai fumble with his own belt.

“You're _wicked,_ you are.” He breathed, amazed. Malavai felt himself go red at the attention, pleased. Back on earth, he had never managed to be so confident. Ven’fir and a fresh start had been responsible for his renaissance.

He smiled up at his lover, keyed up and needing it.

“We'll have a proper celebration when we have the money,” he murmured, pressing close and listening to Ven’fir control his breathing as Malavai's nose brushed thin fabric. “But for now...”

He laughed as Ven’fir wound a hand in his hair, his flush making his green cheeks go a cute shade of brown as Malavai got the fabric out of the way.

“You'll be the end of me,” he managed, body tense and responsive. His back arched and he cursed, his grip tightening on Malavai's hair.

Malavai, unable to speak at that moment, just watched him as he shook apart, triumphant.

* * *

They’d offloaded the cargo to the buyer without incident, although at one-point Malavai had had a sudden surge of anxiety when he wondered if this would end in a sting.

It didn’t, and the shady buyer deposited the money under Ven’fir’s watchful gaze.

Back in hyperspace, they finally relaxed.

They looked at each other, and Ven’fir gave a boisterous laugh, gathering Malavai up in a huge hug and lifting him off the floor.

Laughing and holding on for dear life, Malavai felt as light as a balloon and twice as bright.

Ven’fir spun him around and set him down, pulling him into a kiss that Malavai melted into.

He could feel Ven’fir’s smile, and affection bloomed in his chest.

“We did it,” he breathed, giddy. “We can finally get some real food.”

Ven’fir sniggered.

“No disrespecting the noodles,” he laughed. “They’ve done right by us.”

Malavai scoffed, feeling the lines of him through their clothes.

“They’re fucking _terrible_.” He said firmly, meaning it. “We need to get to Port Nowhere, get fuel and do some repairs and lie low for a while.” He set out, thinking.

Ven’fir gave him a curious look.

“For a while?” he asked, a slow smile spreading over his face. “You think the Voidhound will kick us out?”

Malavai scoffed.

“Of course not, she loves you. I was thinking more like we could find a new mark.” He admitted, risking a glance at Ven’fir.

He was grinning.

“You want to do this again?”

Malavai frowned.

“Of course,” he said, baffled. “We’re still blacklisted, and the money won’t last forever. Besides, the only way we can operate in Cartel territory is by being too big to squash.”

“Strait-laced Malavai Quinn, advocating becoming an outlaw.” Ven’fir teased, and Malavai poked him.

“It’s a choice between this, starving to death on a dead ship or going back to Earth.” He said flatly, “And I am _not_ going back to Earth.”

Ven’fir raised an eyebrow, and Malavai sighed.

“Well, maybe for a few days. Only to see Jaesa, though. Come to think of it though, it would be a perfect spot to hide from the galactic authorities.”

His lover laughed, and Malavai felt it shake through his chest.

“One heist down and you’re already thinking like a pirate.” He teased, and Malavai smiled slyly at him.

“One of us has to,” he murmured, pressing a brief kiss to his mouth. “Come on, I said we could celebrate _properly_ once we had the money.”

* * *

Vette was relaxing, enjoying a Xambu juice and watching reruns on the holonet.

Her room on Nar Shadaa was small and a bit cramped, but it was home and it was the perfect base of operations.

Light filtered through the blinds, weak and simulated, but she didn’t mind.

She had just finished a job, having successfully ‘relocated’ an artifact from the hands of a greedy, corrupt collector and into a museum. A job well done, and she even had a holo of Plasmajack sitting on the guy.

Her feet were up, her juice was wedged in her bosom so it stayed upright, and she was sipping at it with a straw.

Vette was the epitome of relaxed, which was probably why when her show ended, she didn’t bother to turn off the holoplayer like she usually would.

The news started, stories of cascading importance playing on the screen as she watched, idle.

“- the outlaw has been dubbed ‘The Wrath’ and is currently wanted by galactic authorities for theft, extortion, piracy, evading arrest, public indecency and grand larceny. He is accompanied by a partner of undocumented species who-“

Vette blinked.

She blinked again.

That was… that was _Ven’fir._ And that stick in the mud Quinn!

She sat up so fast and spilled juice down her top, but she didn’t take her eyes off the screen, mouth open.

Ven’fir was looking smug in his mugshot, and Quinn had the expression of a man who thought the photographer was dirt on his boot, all nose in the air and haughty aloofness.

Quinn looked like he’d stepped straight out of a magazine showing the most boring, clean cut clothes they could find. He looked more like an accountant on his off-day or an undercover spy than a _pirate._ His clean lines and immaculate appearance suited him, but Vette’s type had never strayed to the ‘pretty’ ones.

Ven’fir looked the part, and she marvelled at him.

Cocky smirk, dangerous eyes and the kind of flashy clothes a spacer would drool over. He looked like a dashing space pirate, and Vette was certain he would have a fan club after this.

“-they escaped custody soon after these holoimages were taken and went on a string of robberies that show no sign of ceasing. The two are credited with-”

Vette stared.

 _What_.

She snatched up her holo and mashed in Ven’s number.

“Come on,” she growled, head spinning. “Pick up, you hairspray brained idiot.”

It rang out and she was just about to cut the call when a crackle and a little flashing light showed that someone had picked up.

“Hello?” Came Ven’fir’s voice only, with no visual. Strange.

She felt the words bubbling up inside her and suppressed them before she did a word vomit.

“Ven, I just saw the news.” She said flatly, “Piracy? What the _kriff_ have you been doing?!”

“Oh, um… I didn’t realise we would make galactic news. Malavai convinced me that w-we should go pirate. I- listen, can I call you b-b-back?” he said, and she frowned at his disjointed sentence.

“Are you okay?” she asked, concerned and baffled. _Quinn_ had convinced him? She felt like she was dreaming.

There was the sound of a small, hoarse curse before he replied.

“Oh, yeah. I’m uh, I’m great! Listen, Malavai is sucking my soul out through my dick right now so if I could call you back-“

Vette felt her cheeks heat up.

“Ven!” she shrieked, horrified. “Why did you even pick up?!”

At the same time as she spoke, she heard a pained sounding ‘ow’ from Ven’fir, as though someone had smacked him.

Or, her mind supplied, someone had used their teeth somewhere sensitive.

“Uh, I think I should go.” He muttered, apologetic. “I’ll call you in… uh, four hours? We’re celebrating knocking off the Outer Rim Spacelines convoy right now, so I think we’ll be fucking for a good while yet- Ow, Malavai!”

Vette didn’t have the words.

“I- you’re the _worst._ ” She hissed. “You _will_ call me, and you _will_ tell me how the two of you ended up as the most notorious space pirates this side of the core.”

“Yeah, of course! Listen, I gotta go, I need to find the rope. Love you, dear!”

“Hate you too!” she snarled and terminated the call with an aggressive jab of her finger, trying not to think about what Ven would be doing with that rope.

She sat there; the news broadcast having moved onto the huttball results.

Well, at least they weren’t broke any more.

She sighed, switching off the holoplayer.

A beat of silence, and then she felt giggles bubbling up inside her.

She laughed so hard she ended up on the floor, leaning back against her sofa.

A surge of pride made her feel warm.

Typical Ven, to make her smile even without meaning to.

He sounded happier than he had done a few months ago, running out of credits and trapped on a dying ship he couldn’t afford to repair, being turned away from every job they could find.

Perhaps Quinn wasn’t _so_ bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They end up becoming the most infamous pirates in the galaxy, picking up a crew and then a fleet. Movies, comics and books are written about them, and Ven makes sure they draw him right.
> 
> No hutt convoy is safe, no shipping lane untapped.
> 
> They're sickeningly in love the whole time. ;)


	25. Rockstar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ven'fir is a rockstar, and he's on top of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BADLY WRITTEN SMUTTY SMUT AHEAD.

# Getting Up Close and Personal With Ven'fir Quinn - The Man With Nothing To Hide

## By Catalina Grunsberg

It’s the modern age, and one would think that the music industry is at the forefront of that hyper in-the-moment flow.

It’s a space of fast careers and wild antics, of stars falling just as quickly as they rose.

I’m at the home of one of music’s biggest new contenders, and it’s not at all what I expected.

Ven’fir Quinn is a man that seems larger than life, with a stage presence that has captivated audiences worldwide.

The home he shares with his husband of four years, one of several such homes, he tells me candidly as he invites me in, is a beautiful, restored farmhouse with sprawling gardens that he tells me that he has a team of gardeners for. He’s not blessed with a green thumb, he says. It’s surprisingly picturesque.

While we’ve all seen him on stage, dressed in the skin-tight leather and eyeliner that has given rise to a mini trend, at home he seems quite different.

He shows me to his kitchen where he makes us coffee, and I’m struck by how comfortable I am. For someone with such an overwhelming persona, he’s easy-going.

Breaking into the music industry with aplomb six years ago with their hit album _The Path_ , Ven’fir and his band _Wrath_ have dominated the airwaves since, rocketing to superstar status on a string of hits, each as solid as the last.

With the charts dominated by pop and light rock, it’s a refreshing change to hear something heavier, although their music hasn’t been to everyone’s taste.

The soaring vocals of lead singer Jaesa Wilsaam give the heavy bassline and screaming guitar riffs a note of class and the modern take on the classic rock energy has served _Wrath_ well. While they are undeniably a rock band, their punchy, flexible style seems to resonate across genres.

Their first release, _The Path,_ contained a tremendous series of tracks, but the track that blazed their trail first was _Inevitable_ , a soaring, emotional ballad that was as uplifting as it was soulful.

“We wanted to say something with our music, more that just singing about love. Love is great, of course it is, but there’s more things that we can talk about. _Inevitable_ is about finding the will to do what you want and be yourself, even if it’s a difficult road.” He said in a previous interview, and the bands openness and representation are traits that have allowed them to garner as much support as they have derision. With two female members who are in a relationship and Ven’fir being incredibly open about his sexuality, they’ve made waves.

Here, I get to know the man behind the leather and the presence.

_It is notoriously hard to break-through in the music industry. What have been some of the barriers you have come up against?_

“Oh, absolutely. Even if you can break in and feel the sun on your face, as it were, you can fall out of it just as fast. It’s been a long road since we started out practicing in Jaesa’s bedroom in between noise complaints.

I think the toughest part was the doldrums. There was a time when we were pulling in a decent crowd when we played at a bar or town hall, but we just didn’t seem able to get past that. It caused some tension in the band, I’ll admit, but that was good. We hadn’t been tested like that before, and we came out of it stronger than ever.

It’s a pretty sh*t situation to be in because it makes you doubt yourself. Am, I really that good? Why don’t more people like us? What if the industry doesn’t want us?

But you gotta get past that. You have to _make_ the industry want you, by beating down their goddamn door and shoving your greatness in their faces.

You’ll show them, and that’s what we like to tell any aspiring artist.

_You’re notoriously open about your sexuality. Was there ever a time when you were ‘in the closet’, so to speak?_

No. I’m fortunate in that I never had to be in the closet because it was never dangerous to be so. Oh, I was told to shut up and act ‘normal’, but I just never did it.

I’m pansexual and in case no one knows what that means, it’s that I’m attracted to men, women and those who don’t subscribe to either of those gender identities. I’m married to a man and I’m very happy, but I am more than aware that my experience is not universal.

My husband was closeted for many years, until he decided to take the plunge and say ‘yes’ when I asked him on a date.

He won’t mind me saying this, which is good. I don’t want him angry at me, even if he is cute when he’s mad.

We’ve been called every name under the sun and a few more besides, received death threats and had people throw things at us or otherwise ‘convince’ us that we’re somehow unnatural or wrong for who we are.

Yeah, I’ve been with women, men, and nonbinary folks. Why should I be ashamed of that?

_On that topic, you’ve said yourself that you’ve had a rather… wild time growing up. Does it bother you when people mention it?_

No, why would it? I slept around, did some weird stuff, got into more trouble that I should have. I never hurt anyone, and the worst anyone can accuse me of is being ‘a bit of a sl*t’, or so the tabloids like the say. I mean, I kind of _was_ , and I don’t see that as a bad thing.

Consent is important, and so is safe sex.

If you’re ticking those boxes, I don’t see why you shouldn’t have whatever fun you like.

So yeah, some people have given interviews about sleeping with me. Some even have nudes of me. So? I published my _own_ nudes on purpose last year, so it’s hardly like its _news_. I’ve posed for nude photoshoots and done raunchy costumes and all the stuff people like to go crazy over. It was fun. They say I’m ‘wild’, but have you ever seen me hurting anyone? No? Then what’s the problem?

Malavai is less appreciative of my candidness, but that’s okay. Not everyone needs to be as open as me. He’s private and that’s just fine too.

_You and your partner seem to be quite different people. Has that ever caused any friction between you two?_

Of course, the sexy kind of friction and the non-sexy kind.

I’m aware I’m a little much to handle sometimes and he needs his space.

We’ve settled into a comfortable medium now, but that the beginning of our relationship it got difficult a few times. I don’t get hints, and he wasn’t good at voicing his feelings. It was made worse by the militaries attitude towards the whole thing. The ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ culture was still clinging on in those days, and it became increasingly obvious that he would have to choose between his career and me. That led to a few arguments, but I’ll not talk about those. It’s not my place to say more than he has.

But yeah, we’re quite different. That’s fine, though. I love him to pieces, and his weirdness compliments my weirdness!

That’s probably one of the reasons I love him so much.

_Fans seem divided over your macho image. Do you ever worry that you’re not perceived as what you’re really like?_

Macho image? Me? I’m not macho.

Do people honestly look at me with my eyeliner and my haircare routine and my complete inability to grow a decent beard, and think ‘yeah, that guy is a real man’s man’.

Well, I suppose I am a man’s man, if you know what I’m saying. As in, I’m married to one, and our sex life is phenomenal.

I like fruity cocktails with umbrellas in them, I like hugs and I cry at sad movies. I have a favourite pair of fuzzy slippers, and I do facemasks and paint my fingernails. I wear jewellery and a lot of my tattoos have flowers in them, and I don’t really like beer very much. Apparently, that’s not manly.

So? Who says you can’t do any of those things if you’re a guy, or that you have to do them because you’re a woman? Do whatever makes you happy.

Personally, I don’t like that kind of absolute attitude. If people are going to hate me for painting my nails or acting ‘like a woman’, then they’re not the kind of people I want to be associated with anyway.

So, drink your pink cocktails, cry when you’re sad, go to the gym and get buff, show your emotions, and enjoy sports and cars and stuff, no matter who you are.

_You have a very positive outlook on life, does that impact your work?_

Oh yeah, absolutely! I’m full of energy, and I like putting that into our music. I don’t write it, that’s not my thing, but I can direct the energy of the track. Jaesa is amazing, she can make you feel anything with a little change to her voice, and so she’s like a conduit for whatever we want the track to feel like.

Everyone pitches in, too. It wouldn’t work if we didn’t all agree on how the track should feel.

_You’ve been open about your struggles with ADHD, does this impact your work?_

It impacts everything, to be honest.

I take steps to manage it, so now it’s more of an inconvenience than the demon it used to be. I didn’t know why I was like I was when I was younger, I thought I was just lazy and wired up wrong, but when Malavai sat me down and told me what he thought, it clicked.

Yeah, I remember thinking, that actually fits pretty well.

And then I got it diagnosed and we went from there. Sometimes it still creeps in and I can’t manage it as well as I would like, but I’ve learned that redirection is my best weapon against it.

Malavai is brilliant too, of course. He’s always there to keep me healthy and okay, and he makes sure I’m happy with how we’re dealing with it.

He’s so wonderful.

_There was an incident last year where your bandmate was arrested for assault, and it was over something someone said to you. Do you have any comment on that?_

More comments than I gave at the time, you mean? Sure, I’ll comment.

That guy was a racist asshole, and Vette wasn’t having any of it.

I don’t blame her for decking him, but I’m glad she’s alright.

I don’t think much about those comments myself, there’ll be people who call me all sorts of things. I’m not Caucasian, I’m not straight, and I’m pretty open about bucking gender norms. I’m everything some people hate.

I do wish she hadn’t done it, but only because she hurt her hand. She’s one of my best friends, and I appreciate her standing up for me.

The rest is up for her to answer, not me.

_You’re the leader of the band, but not the main vocalist. Does that ever cause friction?_

No. We all know what we’re good at, and just because other bands do things one way doesn’t mean that we have to. I take point in our little family, but I’m hardly a dictator. We all do things together, really.

_Last few questions now, I promise. Your husband is your manager. Has that ever been difficult for you?_

For me? No. Vette and Malavai didn’t get on at first, but now they do, even if they wouldn’t admit it. Malavai is much better at negotiating and dealing with the cutthroat side of the industry than any of us, and I think we all know it. He’s fair to an almost painful degree, so I never get special treatment, either.

He’s really brilliant, and I am so proud of him.

_If you could talk to yourself from seven years ago, what would you tell him?_

Well, first off, I’d tell him the lottery numbers, and to invest in some decent shares.

Then I’d probably say something about not stressing so much, and to get a damn diary to keep track of what’s going on. Also, don’t forget Malavai’s birthday that time because _that_ was awkward. He said he didn’t mind, but I felt really bad about it.

In truth? I would just tell my younger self to sit back and enjoy the ride.

* * *

Ven'fir breathed out a slow, controlled breath.

The room was warm, but goosebumps prickled along his skin. His heart beat hard in his chest, adrenaline making his body feel hot and wound tight, every nerve ending hypersensitive. He swore he could still hear the crowd in his ears and feel the lights on his skin, the rush of being on stage in front of seventy thousand people who were screaming their names.

The rush was indescribable, and it was their habit to keep it going as long as they could in private. The afterparty was still going on but they never stayed until the end, instead retiring to their own private party in his hotel suite.

He could feel his hair sticking to the back of his neck, his flesh damp and hot with perspiration.

He refused to take his eyes off the sight in front of him.

Malavai was stretched out on the bed, his skin shining like a polished mirror, his hands firmly bound with rope and tied to the headboard. He was holding onto the heavy rope like it was a lifeline as much as he could, his eyes closed and mouth slightly open. His pale skin was flushed and Ven’fir gripped his hips harder as the sight made his belly clench.

It was a good thing his bed was so solid, or they would absolutely be slamming the headboard into the wall with the frenzy they had worked up.

Ven’fir ran a palm over Malavai's flank in a soothing motion, and the man let out a long sigh that turned into a moan halfway through, low and shameless.

Ven’fir grinned, and pointedly kept up his pace, reaching forward to run his fingers through dark hair shot with silver.

With a sudden motion that netted him another choked off moan, he pulled Malavai's head back by his hair, exposing his throat and forcing him to fall into a pleasing arch.

His expression was one of almost pain, tears dampening his cheeks and beading his lashes.

The bruises on his throat were fresh and the sight of them make Ven’fir stutter, cursing.

He leaned closer, feeling the almost scorching heat between them.

“You alright?” he asked, his own voice low and thick.

His answer was a half-sob, his lover's shoulders shaking, taught as his restraints prevented him from moving.

Ven’fir slowed his pace to a stop, loosening the grip he had on Malavai's hair. He brushed his fingers over his temple, feeling the heat there.

“Mal?” he prompted, “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

The man underneath him seemed to come back from some unknown place, panting as he opened hazy eyes.

He swallowed, his adams apple bobbing as he did so.

“Ven?” he asked, hoarse and punched-out. He glanced over his shoulder, and Ven’fir almost tumbled over the edge at that look. It hit him harder than walking out on stage. “I- yes. Green. I’m green.”

Ven’fir grinned, and his grip tightened again as he resumed his earlier brutal movements suddenly. Malavai gave a sob, moaning and pushing back on him like he wanted nothing more than to keep taking and taking.

“Don’t you _dare_ stop,” his lover rasped, the effort of speaking taking its toll.

Ven’fir chuckled, marvelling at the image below him.

Oh, to get a video of this...

Uptight, fussy, neurotic Quinn, face down and hips up, taking it like he was _born_ for it.

Stunning.

He wasn’t sure how long they had been going for, but the way Malavai's legs trembled as he made the kind of noises Ven’fir fantasised about meant that he wasn’t going to last much longer.

This was round... whatever it was.

More than their second.

They’d made an evening of it, going slow and unrushed as they explored each other. It was familiar now, after all this time, but it still felt new sometimes.

Ven’fir always liked it when he got to have Malavai like this, worked over until he was pliant and desperate for it. It was something to look forward to after a big gig, when they were both keyed up and wanted to keep the adrenaline going.

He was a switch and proud of it, but there really was something about domming that was so _satisfying_.

It was like scratching at itch, like sinking into warmth after being in the cold, like crossing a finish line.

The thrill of pleasing his partner was a heady thing, to hear their noises and feel them shake and know that _he_ did that to them. He was responsible for the gasps and the moans, the begging and the pleasured sobs for more.

He had always liked to please, and Malavai was such a responsive partner that everything felt so much more _intense_.

He was such an aloof, reserved man usually, to have him like this, filthy and ruined and loving every second of it, made Ven's nerves tingle.

It was _thrilling_.

_He'd_ done that.

He had given Malavai that, and he would pick him up and hold him close when they were done, murmuring his love to him as he brought him back to himself.

They’d taken most of the night after the party for themselves, and Ven’fir had planned out everything he knew they liked.

A blindfold lay somewhere on the bed, and an array of toys and bottles were spread out over the sheets. A supple leather collar dangled from the headboard, and handcuffs lay forgotten on the floor next to a spreader bar.

Bottles of water sat on the side table, and a collection of towels, warm water and other peripherals meant that Ven’fir didn’t need to leave the room and leave Malavai alone. The drop could hit him hard if he was left by himself for more than a few minutes, and Ven’fir had no intention of doing so.

A little bowl that had once contained ice cubes was now full of room temperature water, and a gag rested next to it.

It seemed like a long time ago when they had sat down to have coffee together and Ven’fir had laid out the plan of what they were going to do.

Malavai's cheeks had been pink as they talked, but the way he sat close and looked at him with such shy affection had been flaying.

They didn’t get to take their time like this often considering their schedules, so it was a treat for both of them.

Ven’fir loved this.

It felt like nothing else, the thrill of satisfaction when Malavai begged him for more, slurred out a compliment and kissed him like he couldn’t bear not to.

Ven’fir liked taking care of him, and it was a task he took very seriously.

A first aid kit sat within clear sight on the table in the corner, a pile of neatly folded towels next to it.

He grinned, leaning in close and feeling Malavai shudder at the movement.

“You're so _good_ for me,” Ven’fir murmured, meaning it. He ran his free hand over the damp skin, playing connect-the-dots with the moles and freckles on his back. “You're stunning like this, you know?”

Malavai didn’t answer, but the way he shifted and bit his lip hard enough to make it red showed Ven how much he got off on the praise.

There had been a moment earlier, when he had Malavai on his knees and looking up at him with such a wrecked, adoring expression as Ven'fir brushed a thumb over his mouth, that he had felt so overwhelmed with feeling that it took his breath away. It was like the moment the wall of noise hit him as he walked out in front of tens of thousands of screaming fans with their attention on _him._

Ven’fir had murmured sweet words with only the smallest tremor in his voice as Malavai took his fingers into his mouth and looked at him from under his lashes, cheeks pink and expression blissed out and shy.

Ven’fir _loved_ him just as much as he loved fucking him, and he _really_ loved fucking him.

The thrill was burning his nerves and filling his head with blissful fog, and he revelled in the feeling of power and affection that bloomed in his chest.

With a grin, he doubled down for the finale, fireworks under his skin.

* * *

Later, when they were clean and dry and comfortable, Ven’fir ran his fingers through Malavai’s hair.

His partner was blissed out and affectionate, curled up with him and holding him close.

Malavai needed the closeness after nights like this one, and Ven’fir was all too happy to provide. His wrists were red and sore but Ven’fir had tended to them, the first aid kit open and used off to the side.

“Love you,” he heard the man in his arms murmur, sleepy and quiet.

He chuckled lightly, giving him a quick squeeze as he continued to pet his hair.

“I love you too,” he murmured. “It’s almost like a dream, isn’t it? That we’re here.”

He felt Malavai smile against him.

“You’re on top of the world.” He yawned, snuggling in closer.

Ven’fir awkwardly leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“ _We’re_ on top of the world, dear.” He whispered. “You’re right here with me.”

Malavai smiled sleepily again, dropping off to sleep, and Ven’fir fondly pulled the blankets over them a bit more closely.

The thrill and the memory of the stadium lights and the sounds Malavai made when Ven’fir did something new to him played in his head, blurring together.

He curled closer to the now sleeping man in his arms, relishing the feeling of warmth and comfort, and the exhaustion left from the day’s activities.

The top of the world was pretty great, and he wasn’t planning on giving it up any time soon.


	26. Single Parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malavai and Ven’fir are both single dads who find themselves drawn to each other despite their children’s best efforts.

Ven’fir peered out of the window at the van parked over the road.

His hands were submerged in soapy water, and a pile of neat dishes were dripping in the rack, the remains of lunch.

“What is it?” Came a little voice, and he glanced down with a smile.

His youngest, Raikan, was standing on tiptoes as he tried to see over out of the window set above the sink.

“New neighbours,” Ven’fir explained, fishing a rogue fork out from the bottom of the washing up bowl.

His son's eyes lit up.

“Do you think they’re nice?” he asked, still craning his neck.

Ven’fir shrugged.

“Hopefully. Pop your shoes on and find where your brother has hidden himself, will you?” he asked, draining the water and drying his hands. “We need to get your new school stuff.”

Raikan beamed, the picture of childhood joy.

“New pencils!” he cheered. “Dad, can I get a new backpack?!”

Amused, Ven’fir smiled at his son.

“If you’re good, maybe.” He said mysteriously, which of course Rai took as an absolute certainty.

He whooped, and charged off to find his brother, who was no doubt lurking in his room with the door shut.

Fond, Ven’fir dried and stowed the dishes away, keeping one ear tuned for the shrill sounds of arguments or mischief.

He took one last glance out of the window at the removals van, before there was the sound of a slamming door and raised voices and he sighed before turning back to the carnage that was likely being perpetuated at the very idea that his eldest had to _go somewhere._

“Aspel! Two minutes!” he called up the stairs, “Rai, shoes on!”

* * *

Aspel took the shopping trip with as much grace as fourteen-year-old boys do, which was _none_.

With an impressive amount of complaining and ineffective wheedling, he lasted the drive to the big stationary store before he fell quiet, an earbud dangling from one ear and tinny music emanating from the other.

Rai was talking at a million miles an hour, excitedly telling a half-paying-attention Ven'fir about pencils and the new mega-pack that his friend had just got for her birthday. There were a lot of hints thrown in there for an eight-year-old who thought he was being very subtle, and Ven’fir was silently quite impressed with the sheer variety of ways one could hint that they needed a pack of sixty four pencils.

“What’s wrong with the pencils you have?” he asked and was rewarded with the dirtiest look his youngest son could muster for asking such a foolish question.

Rai launched into another explanation of why these pencils were the best ones and he _needed them_ , which lasted all the way home too, which was impressive since he had the pencils in his possession.

He had been particularly good at cleaning his bedroom recently, and Ven’fir was feeling weak.

Aspel had ended up with a new pencil case and some pins for his battered but beloved schoolbag, which elevated his mood from ‘grumpy’ to merely ‘done with the world’.

Rai had wanted to break open his new pencils the moment they crossed the threshold, but Ven’fir had exerted some authority and reminded him of the promise to use them for school. Rai had scowled but acquiesced because he was easy like that. Ven’fir loved both of his sons deeply, but Rai was a suspiciously easy child to parent. Most of the time.

Instead, he entertained himself by staring out of the window at the removals van that was still parked outside. Moving to a new house was usually an all-day affair, so it wasn’t surprising that it was still outside.

Ven’fir watched the door open as his son made an excited noise at the movement, spotting a dark-haired man step out. He had a phone glued to his ear and toddler on his hip, and he seemed like he was trying to hold the child, talk on the phone and fish for his keys at the same time.

He was doing an admirable job, and Ven’fir watched for a moment longer before deciding that it was probably a bit of a dick move to watch someone struggle from the window and not offer help.

“Stay here,” he said to his youngest, “I’m going to see if he needs some help.”

Rai frowned at being told to stay, but his attention soon waned and he was drawing what looked like a horribly mutated butterfly on one of the sheets of computer paper that Ven’fir had used to replace his finished sketchpad.

To call the thing a ‘sketchpad’ was rather grand, since it was a cheap bundle of paper held together by a strip of glue, but Rai had filled the entire thing with drawings of various insects.

At that age, Aspel had been obsessed with farming, and hated to be reminded of the adorable little boots and watering can Ven’fir had kept photos of him in, just to be embarrassing.

He closed the door after telling Aspel where he was going and headed for the shambles that seemed to be spreading over the road.

He plastered a grin on his face, approaching.

“Hi, need some help?” he offered, and the man straightened from where he had been rooting in the cab of the van. “I’m Ven, I live opposite.”

The man in front of him was… neat. Ven’fir wasn’t sure how someone having such a clearly terrible day managed to look like they had spent hours fussing over their appearance, but somehow, this one did.

“I… oh.” He started, a little awkward. “I’m Malavai. This is Aviah.”

Not an acceptance of the help, Ven’fir noted as he waved at the little girl who stared a hole through him. She had blue eyes and the beginnings of a mop of blonde curls, and she looked to be around two. She had an adorably serious expression on her little face, and she screwed up her button nose and hid in the crook of Malavai's neck.

He held out a hand, and Malavai shook it with the one that wasn’t holding a toddler.

His handshake was firm and warm, and his hands were surprisingly rough. He had fingers like a pianist, and Ven’fir was appreciating him more and more.

Finally, the road had some decent eye candy.

“Nice to meet you, Malavai.” Ven’fir grinned, “I’m no removals company, but I can lift things and do what I’m told.” He joked, and Malavai seemed to relax a fraction.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude…” he trailed off, demure.

Ven’fir waved him off.

“Nah, it’s fine. I had help when I moved in, and I can lasso my kids if we need more hands.” He grinned. “My eldest is in the ‘I hate everything’ stage and I take great pleasure in forcing him out into sunlight.”

Malavai, looking awkward, glanced towards his mess of a house.

“If you don’t mind.” He almost whispered, looking quite out of his depth.

Ven’fir grinned.

“I don’t,” he assured. “Let me call my indentured servants- I mean, my boys.” He winked.

Malavai seemed quite overwhelmed, but he held his daughter close and offered Ven’fir a reserved little smile.

Ven’fir half jogged back to his own door, sticking his head inside.

“Boys!” he called, “We’re going to help the neighbour move his stuff!”

Rai poked his head out of the living room, curious.

Ven’fir grinned at him.

“The neighbour is nice,” he assured him, privately thinking that the man was also pretty cute. “I said we’d help him, since he looks like he’s moving by himself.”

Rai just poked his head out of the door and watched the figure of their new neighbour talk on the phone again, his daughter held in the crook of his arm.

Aspel, appearing at the top of the stairs, gave Ven’fir a look.

“You volunteered us, didn’t you?” he asked, sighing.

Ven’fir grinned at him.

“Sure did,” he confirmed cheerily, “The new neighbour needs help moving, and we’re going to be good neighbours.”

Aspel gave him a look.

“You’re the worst, dad.” He muttered without any heat, and a smile was playing around the corners of his mouth. He looked like a carbon copy of Ven’fir, down to the mop of dark curls on his head and his strong facial features. He was going to be tall and solid like his father was, already growing into his frame.

Raikan stood out for his pale skin and fluff of ginger hair, the freckles over his nose making sure that he charmed anyone who saw him.

He was a foster that had turned into an adoption, and Ven’fir was never more grateful for his children than when Aspel took to his new little brother with the kind of fierceness that was usually reserved for older children.

It was extremely sweet, and Ven’fir loved them more than he had the words to express. Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to use them to help move the cute new neighbour into his house.

He followed his children over the road, catching the tail end of the conversation of the phone conversation.

Malavai sounded annoyed and frazzled, and he terminated the call with a firm press of his thumb, sticking it back into his pocket and smoothing his expression.

Faced with two inquisitive stares, he looked a little taken aback.

Ven’fir slung his arms over his son’s shoulders, feeling Rai puff up and Aspel slouch.

“We’re at your service,” he assured, possibly letting his eyes linger too long.

Aspel glanced at him with a knowing stare, and Ven’fir tightened his arms over his son’s shoulders, pulling him close.

His son grunted and let him bring him close with the kind of acceptance that came with a lifetime of having an embarrassing father.

Malavai offered them a fragile little smile and ignored how the phone in his pocket buzzed with another call.

“Thank you,” he murmured, “Shall we start with the big ones?”

* * *

Malavai wanted to go to sleep and wake up when all this was done.

His phone was going crazy in his pocket and every time he answered it, he wanted to show it into a river.

Aviah was in his arms as he talked, having been scooped up as she determinedly attempted to shovel fallen leaves into her mouth.

“Hi, need some help?”

He started, having not heard anyone approach. He straightened from where he had been rooting for his laptop in the cab of the van, coming face to face with a smiling face.

The man who stood in front of his was tall and solid, peering curiously at him. His dark hair fell in curls to his shoulders, and it gave him a boyish air. Tattoos snaked up his arms, and the t-shirt he was wearing was distractingly snug.

His dark complexion made his blinding grin all the brighter, and _oh_ -

He had dimples.

The man didn’t seem put off by his startled look and offered a little wave.

“I’m Ven, I live opposite.” He explained, waving at the house behind him.

It looked almost identical to the one Malavai was moving into, save for the colour of the door and the car on the paved driveway.

Malavai really didn’t need nosey neighbours, even if they did look as good as this one.

“I… oh.” He managed, cursing his brain and apparently inability to talk. “I’m Malavai. This is Aviah.”

He glanced at his daughter, noting how she stared at the new person with a serious expression on her little face.

The man gave her a goofy little wave, and grinned.

“Nice to meet you, Malavai.” He said grandly, “I’m no removals company, but I can lift things and do what I’m told.”

He seemed nice.

Malavai really didn’t want to bother anyone, but he also did want some help. If he could do this himself, he would.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude…” he offered the stranger an out, but Ven’fir flapped his hand dismissively.

“Nah, it’s fine. I had help when I moved in, and I can lasso my kids if we need more hands.” He joked, and Malavai relaxed a little. If he had kids of his own, he probably wouldn’t be too leery of Aviah.

Ven’fir nodded. “My eldest is in the ‘I hate everything’ stage and I take great pleasure in forcing him out into sunlight.”

Malavai really wanted the help, but he also didn’t want to seem like he was weak. He could do this. He _could_.

His daughter shifted in his arms, and he sighed.

“If you don’t mind.” He agreed quietly, feeling awful. His phone buzzed again, and he ignored the flood of nerves that accompanied it.

Ven’fir grinned.

“I don’t,” he assured. “Let me call my indentured servants- I mean, my boys.”

His humour was infectious, and Malavai couldn’t help a smile.

* * *

Malavai was beyond grateful for Ven’fir and his boys.

Aspel played at being grumpy, but the teenager put his back into helping, and Malavai decided that he liked him.

Rai was a little too small for heavy lifting, but he seemed to like stacking things, so he got the job of reading the labels on the boxes and putting them in their respective rooms.

Malavai had set up the baby gate in the doorway of the room that was to be his bedroom, and she stared grumpily out from between the bars at whoever was working upstairs at the time, pudgy little arms reaching out to snap some unfortunate’s trouser legs.

It took hours before they were done, and his phone had rung no less than six times, none of which he answered.

Ven’fir eventually sent his boys home with instructions for Aspel to make dinner for Rai and to leave some leftovers for him.

Malavai protested at him staying even longer to help, but Ven’fir waved him off with a smile.

Malavai thanked the boys, watching Rai beam at him and Aspel eye him with a strangely suspicious expression.

“I can’t thank you enough for this,” he murmured, watching Ven’fir heft a large box into the living room, and Malavai found his eyes straying to how the muscles in his back showed through his too-tight t-shirt.

The other man set down the box and turned to grin at him, wiping sweaty hair from his forehead.

“It’s no problem,” he assured, pulling up the hem of his t-shirt to wipe his brow.

Malavai just about had a heart attack, felt guilty about looking, and then realised that he now had absolutely no reason to feel guilty eyeing up a _fantastic_ body, and then felt profoundly sad at that too.

Dear lord, his new neighbour was _fit_.

Aviah was in his arms again after she had been fed, and he absently ran his fingers through her hair.

“She’s adorable,” Ven’fir commented, leaning against the kitchen counter with a smile. “I remember when Aspel was that age. They’re so small.”

Malavai smiled, holding her close.

“She is,” he agreed, “She’s going to look just like her mother, I think.”

Ven’fir tilted his head.

“She not around?” he asked, and Malavai glanced at him. He seemed genuinely curious, if a little blunt. Ven’fir seemed like the kind of guileless sort that Malavai wasn’t used to, but he liked the cheery man, and not just because he was handsome.

“No.” he said simply, “Divorce papers were finalised last month, and she was quick to assure everyone that she didn’t want custody.”

Ven’fir’s eyes were surprised, and he winced.

“Sorry,” he murmured, “Didn’t mean to bring it up.”

Malavai shrugged as best he could with his daughter in his arms.

“The divorce was a formality,” he admitted, frazzled and exhausted. “She didn’t want kids, and I had to convince her not to terminate. I’m surprised it took two years for her to serve me papers, honestly.”

He shot a small smile to the man who had asked for nothing but a glass of water after helping him. Ven’fir would want something, of course, but for now Malavai was happy to pretend that he was simply a good sort.

Ven’fir smiled, tired. “I know the feeling. Kind of. Aspel is fourteen and I think you can guess I’m not that old.” He laughed, “I had him young, too young probably, and my girlfriend at the time wasn’t ready for kids. We’re still friends, though.” He shrugged, “Rai was a foster, but I ended up adopting him formally after two years. Aspel adores him.”

Malavai felt his heart swell.

“That’s really nice.” He admitted, and Ven’fir shot him a crooked, boyish smile.

“Yeah. I must have forgotten how stressful raising a baby at sixteen was when I decided to keep him.” He laughed. “I never missed studying while changing nappies and doing potty training.” He shuddered. “You have that to look forward to, so good luck.”

Malavai nodded.

“I know. I’ve um, I’ve drawn up a spreadsheet.” He blushed, realising how that sounded after he had said it.

Ven’fir laughed, and Malavai liked that laugh, even if it was directed at him.

“Well, sounds like you’ve got it all in hand,” he teased. “I should get back to my boys, but we’re only over the road if you need anything.”

With that, he bid Malavai goodbye and headed back to his own home, leaving Malavai in a silent house full of boxes.

He sighed, a cold feeling seeping back in with Ven’fir’s departure.

* * *

Aspel gave Ven’fir a look when he slipped inside, heading for the kitchen, and rooting through the fridge for the Tupperware of leftovers he hoped Aspel had left him.

Ven’fir turned, the microwave humming behind him.

His son was giving him the stink eye.

“What?” he asked, suspicious.

Aspel leaned against the doorframe, almost as tall as Ven’fir was now.

“You want to screw the neighbour.”

Ven’fir raised his eyebrows.

“Do I?” he asked, amused.

Aspel nodded, frowning.

“Yeah, it’s weird. He’s old.”

“He isn’t that old,” Ven’fir assured him, deeply amused by this whole conversation. “He’s hardly collecting his pension, now is he?”

“He’s going _grey_.” His son insisted, and _yes_ , Ven’fir had seen how Malavai’s black hair was going silver at his temples and _yes_ , he liked that very much.

“So? I found a grey hair this morning.”

Aspel scoffed. “You’re embarrassing.”

Ven’fir nodded absently as the microwave dinged and he extracted his food.

“So you tell me,” he grinned, “Often.”

The teenager huffed as Ven’fir dug a fork into the pasta and shovelled it into his mouth, throwing up his hands and muttering darkly about how unreasonable Ven’fir was and how old people were weird.

Amused, Ven’fir let him go.

* * *

Ven’fir went round to Malavai’s house in the morning, bearing breakfast and a few essentials.

Aspel gave a dirty look as he selected his tightest t-shirt and ruffled his hair.

The teenager sipped his juice as he scowled, and Ven’fir smirked at him.

His eldest son was never going to be sexually ignorant considering Ven’fir was his father, but it was also intentional.

Ven’fir had _not_ been discreet at his age, and it was little wonder he didn’t have more children than he did. Poor Aspel grew up with information and warnings not to be stupid, which seemed to have stuck. He seemed to have little interest in girls or boys yet, but Ven’fir wasn’t worried.

“Don’t break his walking stick,” Aspel called snidely as Ven’fir headed out of the door, Rai poking his head out of the house to watch him go. Both his sons had been roused, fed, and clothed, and he wouldn’t be gone for long.

Ringing the doorbell, he listened to the twee chime, idly thinking that it didn’t suit Malavai at all. Changing the doorbell chime was probably not high on his list of priorities.

There was a moment of quiet before the door opened, a harried looking Malavai at the door.

He looked as neat as he had been the previous day, but there were dark circles under his eyes, and he seemed quite frazzled.

Ven’fir held up the lunchbox and thermos and grinned when Malavai blushed.

* * *

Malavai had been cursing whoever was daring to ring his doorbell in the morning, until he saw who it was.

Ven’fir, the charming, cheery neighbour with the body to die for that had helped him yesterday, was standing on his doorstep with a lunchbox and thermos.

Breakfast, he assumed.

Malavai was this close to buckling and hugging the poor man, but instead he just managed a probably fragile looking smile and invited him inside.

The man looked just as fine as he had the previous day, and Malavai enjoyed watching him walk his way into the kitchen.

Dear lord, it was like watching two peaches in a handkerchief.

Ven’fir chuckled when he spotted Aviah in her highchair, attempting a daring escape attempt. She was gnawing on the straps holding her in but looked up and beamed at Ven’fir with an adorable, dribbly baby smile as he came close.

Charmed, he bent low and waved at her, pulling a funny face and listening to her giggle.

Malavai smiled, observing.

“She likes you,” he murmured, pleased. “She’s usually pretty wary of new people.”

Ven’fir glanced at him and grinned, and Malavai couldn’t help but smile back until the man turned back to his daughter and Malavai’s eyes drifted south again.

Ven’fir straightened, much to Malavai’s disappointment, and gestured to the lunchbox. It was one of those foil lined ones, and Malavai all but melted as the other man opened it up and produced what looked like paninis.

“I thought you might appreciate some food,” Ven’fir smiled, “Since I doubt you had time for grocery shopping yesterday.”

Malavai had been planning on having a few granola bars for breakfast, but this was _way_ better.

“Shall we?” he offered, as though Ven’fir didn’t know exactly what state his house was in.

The other man smiled, and they headed for the living room with its off-centre sofa. Malavai carried Aviah in his arms, setting her down and letting her amuse herself with a small selection of toys that she immediately went about trying to smush together.

They sat together, Malavai eating the panini (it was excellent) and then they drank their tea and talking quietly, each keeping an eye on Aviah.

“Well, I should probably get back to the boys,” Ven’fir smiled, “Unless you’d like some help moving more stuff? I’m not working today.”

Malavai could admit to being curious what Ven’fir did for a living and plucked up the courage to ask.

Ven’fir grinned.

“I own a dance studio.”

Malavai blinked. Okay, he hadn’t expected that. It must have shown on his face, because Ven’fir laughed at him.

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” He admitted, amused. “I own my studio, and I also do consulting work. I’ve worked with a few celebrities and on a couple of movies.” He said, unabashed.

Considering what he looked like, Malavai was surprised he wasn’t _in_ the movies.

“Well, that’s fascinating.” He murmured, telling the truth. “What kind of dance do you do?”

Ven’fir shrugged, leaning back, and treating Malavai to a nice view of the strip of skin exposed between the hem of his short and the waist of his jeans.

“All the usual ones,” he explained. “Salsa, ballroom, rumba, modern, you know.” He waved a hand. “I did ballet for a while when I was younger, but I didn’t like it too much.”

Ballet. This man, pushing six foot something and looking like he could probably bench press Malavai’s car, covered in tattoos and with more piercings in his ears than he could count, used to do _ballet_.

“I lecture at the university,” Malavai said with a self-depreciating smile. “Not nearly as exciting.”

Ven’fir seemed curious anyway, and they ended up falling into conversation again, Malavai awkwardly explaining that he lectured on medicine and technically, he was _Dr_ Quinn, former army medic and now university lecturer.

Ven’fir listened and smiled, and Malavai was sort of in trouble.

* * *

Ven’fir kept turning up, and Malavai kept letting him in.

The boys turned up one day and Aspel mowed his lawn while Rai informed him that he was there to dust things for him. The boys squabbled more than they worked, but it was the thought that counted.

Bemused, he let them in, feeling quite out of his depth with the niceness.

* * *

Malavai got his house in some semblance of order and felt like he should do something good for the Polaris family.

He invited them for dinner and Ven’fir showed up with beer and an excited Rai, Aspel following behind and glaring at Malavai.

“He’s worried I’ll sleep with you,” Ven’fir said afterwards, when the boys were watching TV and they were washing up. Aviah had decided that she adored Rai, who was more than happy to play with her while Aspel was glued to the TV.

Malavai blinked at him, feeling his cheeks heating up.

“He is?” he asked, keeping his voice level. His phone buzzed, and he ignored it.

Ven’fir shot him a grin as he dried a plate.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “He says I’m gross and embarrassing, which is par for the course.”

Malavai was still digesting the information.

“So um, that’s something you do?” he asked awkwardly. “Date, I mean?”

Ven’fir gave him a look.

“Not usually,” he said, and Malavai knew what that look meant. Oh. “But I’m not opposed.”

 _Oh_.

* * *

Ven’fir was helping him paint the box room when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it, and it went quiet for a moment before buzzing again.

Fuming, he mashed the rocker until it went to silent.

Ven’fir glanced at him, and he blushed.

“My ex-wife.” He muttered. “She wants some paperwork from me.”

Ven’fir’s face turned sympathetic.

Malavai ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated and unhappy. Downstairs, he could hear Aviah giggling as she played with Rai and Aspel, who would hopefully dissuade her from eating carpet fluff or licking the windows again.

“The first thing she said after ‘I want a divorce’ was that she didn’t want her daughter. The second thing was that I wasn’t getting any money.” He sighed, hurt in his belly. “She was more concerned with splitting our assets than she was about our Aviah.”

Ven’fir put his paint brush down, sombre.

“She sounds like a bitch.”

Malavai was startled into a laugh. Trust Ven’fir to manage to make him smile when he was in this mood.

“Yeah, she kind of is.” He admitted, “Everyone said she was way out of my league, including her. We were rocky for a long time before the divorce, but…” he trailed off, unsure what to say next.

Ven’fir patted him on the shoulder, and his hand lingered for a moment, warm.

“Her loss.” He said simply, smiling. Little spatters of paint were on his clothes, old and already covered in various spots of paint and dust. A little speck of cream paint was on his nose, standing out against bronze skin.

Malavai couldn’t help but smile too.

* * *

Ven’fir, to Aspel’s horror, really liked their neighbour.

The man was awkward and a bit fussy and had enough baggage to be a little concerning, but Ven’fir _liked_ him.

Also, he was extremely pretty, and was exactly Ven’fir’s type.

To that end, he was attempting to set up an opportunity to ask him on a date but was being hit with a brick wall at every opportunity. It was breathtakingly frustrating.

His sons had gotten into a truly horrendous argument and Ven had come home from a long session in the studio to screaming and a kitchen covered in soapsuds.

Annoyed and tired, he crossed his arms, put on his dad-face, and waited for them to notice him.

Aspel noticed first, his eyes going wide and horrified. Ven’fir was hardly an authoritarian tyrant, but he wasn’t a doormat.

Rai, sensing what had happened, turned to see his father, clearly furious.

Immediately both of his sons began blaming the other, until Ven’fir’s temper spiked and he held up a hand.

“Clean it,” he growled. “Now.”

Meek nods.

Well, so much for inviting him over tonight.

* * *

Next, he had gone over a few days later with beer an intent to ask Malavai on the date, but Aviah had been in full meltdown mode and the harried looking Malavai didn’t have time to say so much as a hello before he was consumed with his bawling daughter.

Typical.

* * *

This went on for weeks, and Ven’fir was getting steadily more frustrated.

In the end, he called his best friend.

Vette had been mildly sympathetic, demanding details of the object of his desires, and calling him a gerontophile and then asking if Malavai could be classed as a cougar even if he was male.

Amused and slightly baffled, he requested her services babysitting.

Aspel didn’t need a babysitter, but even Ven’fir wasn’t cruel enough to force his eldest to look after his little brother every time his father went on a date.

Vette usually turned up when Ven’fir got the urge to hit the town and get brought back home by someone, which meant his sons were more than familiar with Vette.

What could he say? He was a social butterfly.

Vette said the correct word was ‘slut’, but what did she know?

Aspel and Rai adored Vette, and Ven’fir was confident in her ability to handle any arguments or potential boredoms that might arise.

All he needed to do now was ask Malavai.

By this point, Malavai’s house was all but finished and there were no more boxes. Well, Malavai was a remarkably efficient person and had cleared the boxes by week two, but still. Ven’fir wasn’t going to tell him that it had taken him significantly longer to get _his_ house looking better than a bomb site.

He knocked on the door and Malavai answered, toddler on his hip and looking as relaxed as he ever got.

Which meant he was an immaculate and put together as always, Ven’fir noted fondly.

It was flattering to see how Malavai’s face broke into a smile when he saw him, and how Aviah gave a slightly garbled shout of ‘Ven!’ from her position on her father’s hip.

“Hey,” he greeted, and followed Malavai inside after he was invited. Malavai’s house was as immaculate as the man himself, surprisingly comfortable for someone who Aspel frequently likened to a robot.

They settled on the sofa as Aviah happily pulled the hair a toy lion, and Malavai glanced at him.

“I was wondering if you wanted to get a drink with me.” Ven’fir asked, layering on the charm.

Malavai blinked at him, cheeks turning pink. He was _cute_.

“Like a date,” he quickly clarified. “I am approaching you with romantic intent.”

Malavai’s brows furrowed, and he looked amused and shy.

“Please, never say that again.” He requested. “And um… are you asking me out on a date, or are we going for drinks so we can sleep together later?” he asked, cheeks turning bright red.

Oh.

He wasn’t sure if Ven’fir was serious about him or just wanted a fuck buddy.

He smiled and leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek, feeling stubble and warm skin under his lips.

“A _date_ date.” He assured.

Malavai was cherry red, and it was a lovely splash of colour on his usually pale cheeks.

“I- okay.” He murmured, shy. “I’ll warn you that I haven’t been on a date since… a while. Literal decades, I think.”

Before he was married, then.

Ven’fir, elated and excited, beamed at him.

“I think we’ll be fine.” He assured and went to kiss him on the cheek again.

Malavai turned his head at the last moment and the cheek-kiss turned into a proper-kiss, and Ven’fir had never been a man to waste time despite his surprise. He moved his hand to cup Malavai’s jaw to bring them closer, and the kiss turned warmer and deeper. He’d had an inkling that Malavai wasn’t the prude he often came off as.

He felt Malavai respond to him, surging forwards with more passion than most people would have expected from him to press close to Ven’fir.

Just as things were starting to get warm and hazy, Aviah started to cry.

All but jumping apart from some primal reaction to a crying baby, they glanced at her and them each other.

Aviah was upset that she had pulled the head off her toy lion.

Ven’fir started to laugh, and Malavai couldn’t help a pink cheeked smile.

* * *

Date night, and things were… not going according to plan.

The boys were fighting and Vette was late due to traffic, and Malavai had hurriedly come over and explained that Jaesa, his friend who was going to babysit for him, was also running late due to an accident that had caused miles of tailbacks.

Three hours later, their respective babysitters arrived, but their reservation was well and truly missed.

Malavai looked harried and awkward as Vette fired questions at him, so Ven’fir felt the need to swoop in and save the poor man.

“How about we all watch some movies, yeah?” he offered, sending a quick apologetic look to Malavai over their lost evening.

Next time, he hoped, they would make it out of the door.

* * *

Movie night saw Jaesa and Vette get along like a house on fire, but Ven’fir was still determined to get Malavai naked at some point.

There had been a lot of stolen kisses and some steamier wandering hands before they had to attend to a child or head for work, and Ven’fir rather felt hanging out at each other’s houses probably counted as dates anyway.

“Vette,” he said gravely over the phone. “I intend to fuck that man until he can’t walk, and I need you to distract my kids while I do it.”

She made a lot of disgusted noises and called him a wrinkle-hunter, before agreeing.

He popped over to Malavai’s house and informed him of the same thing, which led to an impromptu make out session in the laundry room while Aviah toddled at full speed around the house looking for them.

They broke apart with smiles and in Malavai’s case, red cheeks.

Ven’fir just winked.

* * *

Malavai was having a problem.

Well, it was kind of the opposite of a problem and that’s why it was one.

Ven’fir Polaris was entirely too good for him, and he was sure something was about to ruin it.

 _Him_.

He was sure that ‘something’ was _him_ and he was going to make it all weird and he would have to become a hermit in case they ever saw him outside his house again.

He waited for something to do wrong.

The Polaris boys would have another argument, or Aviah would get sick. Aspel would sabotage them again, or Rai would tell Ven’fir about art supplies the night before.

Nothing.

Date night came and Jaesa picked Aviah up, the little girl delighted to see her. Malavai had fussed a little, but it was in his nature to do so. It made him feel better, and Jaesa was patient with him.

Jaesa had been Malavai’s friend for an awfully long time, and he owed her for this. She shot him a knowing grin, and headed for Ven’fir’s house, crossing paths with the man himself as he headed for Malavai. He couldn’t even bring himself to be too embarrassed. Ven’fir was ridiculously attractive and apparently wanted to date _him_ for some reason _._ Malavai was sure there was some kind of mix up, but at this point, he didn’t want to rock the boat for Ven’fir fearing how much better he could do that a recently divorced single father ten years his senior.

They exchanged words and Malavai wanted to shout at them to hurry it up but managed to restrain himself.

Ven’fir took his sweet time, ambling over with a six pack of beer and a smile. The moment he closed the door, Ven’fir set the beer down and kissed him like he couldn’t think of anything else.

Malavai melted into it, revelling in the feeling of the other man pressed close. The kiss was delightfully deep and wet, and he was consumed with filthy thoughts that he was sure Ven’fir would love to hear about.

They parted for air, staying close enough for their noses to touch.

Ven’fir was warm and smelled like something with sandalwood, and Malavai wanted to be close to him for as long as he could.

They were pressed flush with one another, Ven’fir leaning against the wall and his hands on Malavai’s waist. He grinned at him, cheeky and sweet.

“Shall we make the most of this?” he asked, his voice rough.

Malavai didn’t answer with words, but he felt Ven’fir smile into the kiss that he pulled him into, even as their hands began to wander.

“Stop talking,” he ordered, and fell into his kisses again.

Ven’fir smiled into the kiss, and Malavai indulged himself by taking his time.

There was no rush, and no children to have an ear out for.

They had all the time their wanted to explore each other, and he fully intended to do so.

Ven’fir grinned and, with a heave and a movement that had Malavai yelping and clutching at his shoulders as he fitted his hands under his thighs and lifted him, turned them to he could pin the slimmer man against the wall.

Malavai _liked_ that. There was something just so ridiculously hot about a show of strength like that, especially when it ended up with him pinned to the wall.

He saw Ven’fir grin and he used his ankles to hold on tight, feeling his body heat through his clothes.

“Bed?” Ven’fir rasped, seemingly drunk on heat and kisses.

Malavai just about had the presence of mind to nod before kissing him again, and he’d never been more glad that he’d accepted the help of the stranger who had shown up at his door.


	27. Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darth Venator catches a spy.

Ven'fir swept through the corridors, his expression grim and boots rapping against the polished floor.

Imperials quickly hurried out of his way, seeing his usual cheerful visage twisted into thunderous ire.

His presence rolled and flickered on the edges of their consciousness, their Force blind senses registering the brush of Dark Side power as a prickle of their skin and the feeling of faint pressure filling their lungs with a flash of terror.

Darth Venator was a terrifying prospect of a Sith, and everyone remembered what had happened to his former Master.

Venator, for all his smiles and cheer, was undeniably _Sith_. His eyes burned amber, and the way his clawed gauntlets twitched as someone made the mistake of crossing his path was enough for his people to steer clear of him.

Ven’fir approached the nervous looking Imperials waiting for him at the end of the hallway.

“How,” be began with a devastatingly even tone, “Did he get inside?”

Pierce winced.

“I uh, he had a false pass.” He admitted, for once not attempting his usual irreverent banter.

He had rightly assumed that Ven’fir was not in the mood.

Ven’fir narrowed his eyes.

“Do we know who he is? Who he works for?”

Pierce shook his head.

“He says he wants to talk to you,” He informed him, “But if you ask me, he's got some Sith telling him what to do.”

Ven’fir raised an eyebrow and ignored how the security personnel cringed.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, tilting his head.

Pierce scowled.

“Just a feeling,” he grunted. “He's the bootlicking sort. No spine, lots of ambition, sort of slimy.”

Ven’fir knew the type.

He didn’t like them.

Whoever the intruder was, they likely thought that Ven was more likely to spare them, considering his reputation for mercy.

That was the thing about his mercy, you had to actually deserve it.

Ven’fir was no bleeding heart, and many a rival had met their end surprised, with his blade through their gut or the Force closing around their windpipe.

So, someone had been sent to spy on the Wrath.

Well, they were in luck, he thought grimly, heading for the holding cells.

They had found him.

* * *

The man in the holding cells looked like the picture of a man trying to hide how kriffed he was.

Ven’fir swept in, and the guards saluted as he passed, coming to a halt a few feet from the buzzing forcefield.

The man inside the cell looked up, and his eyes went wide.

“Darth Venator,” he greeted, bowing low. Ven’fir watched him closely. “I… greetings, my lord.”

Ven’fir laughed, and the man blinked, surprised.

“Stow the pleasantries,” Ven’fir advised, amused and furious. “Who are you?”

He was a pretty thing, Ven’fir supposed.

Pale and put together, the picture of the ideal Imperial, he thought with a hit of derision.

He was standing almost to attention, back straight, chin up and eyes down, the perfect posture for an Imperial standing in front of a Sith.

“My name is Quinn, my lord.” He murmured, awkward. He seemed nervous, and Ven’fir liked that. He suited fear.

“One question down,” he murmured, watching as the man fought now to fidget. “That wasn’t so hard, was it Quinn?”

“N-no, my lord.” He breathed, and Ven’fir could hear his heartbeat from here, he was sure. His fear tasted acidic and cloying, like klemons and sugar on his tongue.

“Mm, good. Now for a harder one. What were you doing here?”

Quinn cringed before he managed to right himself. He glanced up, blue eyes wide.

“I… I can’t say, my lord. Forgive me.”

“No.” Ven’fir snapped, “I won’t forgive you. Tell me, or I _tear_ the answer out of you.”

Quinn squeezed his eyes shut, and Ven’fir saw how his breathing was quick and shallow.

“My lord, I _can’t_.” the Imperial said, before taking a deep breath and meeting his eyes. “I apologise, Darth Venator, but I can’t do as you ask.”

Ven’fir felt his temper spike.

“Tearing the answer out it is,” he snarled, and deactivated the forcefield.

Quinn looked startled and frightened, his body tense.

Ven’fir stalked towards him, stopping only once he was well and truly within the Imperial’s space. The tips of his clawed gauntlet brushed delicate skin, and the Imperial swallowed hard, a tiny bead of blood welling up where those razor-sharp claws got too close.

“Last chance,” Ven’fir purred, running his tongue over his teeth. Quinn watched him with huge eyes.

He was breathing so fast Ven’fir was sure he was about to faint.

“I… no. I can’t. She’ll kill me.”

Finally, they were getting somewhere.

“Who will kill you?” he asked, moving the tip of the gauntlet to that it brushed against the Imperial’s throat again, the touch feather light and distracting.

Quinn breathed in, and Ven’fir could feel the heat of his body with how close they were.

He stayed quiet.

Ven’fir wrapped his fingers around that slender neck, and a fearful noise met his ears.

Hm, lovely.

He wondered what other noises he could wring out of this pretty creature, so nervous and stubborn.

He grinned, and Quinn looked back, his pupils blown so wide that Ven’fir could only see a thin line of blue around them.

His hand flexed and he tightened his grip just a little, and the Imperial twitched.

“If you kill me,” the man whispered, terrified and doing an admirable job of getting a hold on it. “You’ll never know the answer.”

The _nerve_.

He squeezed harder, and Quinn tried to gasp but it caught in his throat. He brought his hands up to clutch at Ven’fir’s hand, eyes horrified.

“You’d rather I torture you?” Ven’fir snarled, his mouth brushing the shell of the human’s ear. “Most would prefer death.”

Quinn struggled, but Ven’fir held him fast, relaxing his grip when the Imperial looked like he was beginning to see stars.

He gasped for air, cheeks flushed and eyes unfocussed.

“You- you’ll just kill me when I tell you,” he rasped, his hands encircling Ven’fir’s wrists like paper manacles.

Ven’fir smiled.

From how the Imperial swallowed again, it wasn’t a reassuring smile.

“That depends on how useful you plan on being,” he murmured. “I’m less inclined to be merciful if you make me work for it.”

Quinn was calculating, and Ven’fir liked how his face changed as he thought.

He really was delightful, even like this.

 _Especially_ like this.

He was a bit pathetic, but Ven’fir found that he didn’t really mind.

“I-“ he started, before he gasped a little as Ven flexed his hand just to remind him of exactly what he was dealing with.

He took a careful breath and continued in a carefully measured tone.

“Will you protect me?” he asked, eyes searching. “If I turn traitor for you? I… I would rather work for _you_. Anyone else, really.” He admitted, and Ven’fir appreciated the honesty. “But I can’t disobey orders without consequence.”

So, he was under orders, like Pierce had said. And, by the sounds of it, another Sith had his leash.

Interesting.

Ven’fir shrugged, and the movement caused the Imperial to shudder.

“That depends on if protecting you ends up being worth it,” he admitted, amused. His fury had faded now that there was entertainment to be had. “If _you_ end up being worth it.”

Quinn eyed him and his smile with apprehension.

To Ven’fir’s delight, he flushed. With deliberate slowness, he pressed forward.

He looks up through his lashes, awkward and unsure.

“I… I can make sure that I am, my lord.” He breathed, and Ven’fir wasn’t so stupid as to not get _that_.

It was a little surprising, but not too much.

Ven’fir had lived in the Empire for long enough to know that despite the lip service paid to bigotry and illusions of ‘purity’, plenty of Imperials got hot and bothered by the thought of fucking an alien.

He was humanlike enough for them to accept, while still different enough to satisfy their fetishism.

He wasn’t complaining. Being objectified wasn’t so bad, at least when you were Sith and could defend yourself against unwanted attention.

“Oh?” he prompted Quinn, making the most of it with a grin. “You can make sure I want to keep you around?”

Quinn lowered his gaze, cheeks pink and looking like he wasn’t fond of what he was about to do.

He moved again and Ven’fir let his arm move with him. He was now pressed almost flush to him, and Ven’fir could feel his pulse fluttering at his throat.

“I’m sure I can think of something, my lord.”

Ven’fir grinned.

“That's what I like in a captive,” he chuckled. “Survival instinct.”

He slowly released the grip on the other man’s neck and watched as he swayed a little from the headrush.

He was flushed and perspiration glimmered on his skin, and-

Oh.

He looked good with the beginnings of bruises on his throat.

“I'll bite, Quinn.” He murmured, observing the shaken Imperial who had the nerve to stand up to him and make a deal. “You tell me everything, and I won’t kill you.”

Quinn looked a little confused that Ven’fir wasn’t mentioning the fact that he'd offered himself to him, but he stayed quiet.

He nodded.

Ven’fir smiled, pleased.

“Now, talk.”

* * *

He came back to Quinn dripping blood, keyed up and high on adrenaline.

Quinn's intel had been solid.

The Sith in question, a Darth that Ven’fir had torn apart for daring to spy on _him_ , had been quite terrified by the end.

Mm, satisfying.

It was late at night and the lights were dim in their strips, and he waved the guards away as he entered. They didn’t question him, turning and leaving without a word.

They would linger close, but he was already forgetting them.

Quinn watched him, standing up from where he had been sitting cross legged on the floor.

Still as stiff and formal as before, Ven’fir noted.

His expression was strangely eager, and Ven’fir watched as he took him in, dark eyes moving to the blood and the bruise blooming on his cheekbone.

The Sith had hit back, and she hit _hard_.

Not hard enough, though.

“You did it,” he breathed, more animated now than in the whole time Ven’fir had been in his presence.

“Of course,” Ven’fir scoffed, amused. The Sith had denied it all of course, but she had still preferred to go for the kill than defend herself. It was telling. “She was nothing.”

Quinn ran his tongue over dry lips and Ven’fir followed the action.

There was the faintest hint of pink spread over his cheekbones, and Ven’fir liked watching him.

“I must thank you, then.” The Imperial murmured, “My lord.”

Ven’fir smiled, shaking his head.

“You won’t in a minute. What did she have over you?” he asked, and watched as Quinn looked away.

“So you can hold it over me, too?” he asked shrewdly, and Ven’fir enjoyed his daring. He seemed to know just what Ven’fir wanted from him, and made sure that’s what he got.

Ven’fir couldn’t even say it wasn’t _working_.

“That depends on what it is,” he admitted easily, “And if it can be used to sway you from me in the future.”

Quinn looked at him, and it was a strangely penetrating inspection. Ven’fir felt rather naked under it.

“I served under Lord Thyrisé six years ago.” He said eventually, tone cool and clipped. He knew he didn’t have a choice, here.

Ven’fir vaguely recognised the name, but no more.

Quinn's lip curled.

“She was... a difficult Sith to work with.” He murmured, delicate and hateful.

Ven’fir hadn’t known the woman, but if she could inspire such loathing in a cold fish like Quinn, it said something about her probably less-than-stellar qualities.

“She died, out on patrol.” He said, meeting Ven’fir’s eyes, challenging. “A cave in. I made it out and she didn’t. Her apprentice was not pleased when I took command of our squad in her stead. She threatened to tell the Empire that I killed her master, unless I served her.”

“ _Did_ you kill her?” Ven’fir asked, fascinated.

Quinn looked at him coolly.

“The report states ‘cave in', _my lord_.”

Ven’fir grinned, knowing this was a _terrible_ idea and loving it.

He deactivated the forcefield, watching as Quinn tensed.

Ven’fir stepped forward, and the Imperial looked about ready to bolt.

As if he _could_.

“You’re interesting, Quinn.” He murmured and wanted to laugh at how wary that made the Imperial look. He was clever, probably _too_ clever.

Ven’fir wanted him because he liked interesting things. He liked pretty things too, and Quinn neatly ticked both boxes.

He was slick, manipulative and, since Ven wasn’t an _idiot_ , ruthless. He was also self-serving and rightfully wary around him.

He smiled, and something in it must have shown his thoughts because Quinn flushed slightly.

“There are worse things to be, my lord.” The Imperial said carefully.

Ven’fir personally agreed, and he smiled as he stepped oven closer. Once again, he was in the Imperial’s space, and Quinn swallowed, needing to look up ever so slightly. He was a tall man, but Ven’fir had him beat by an inch or two.

“Do you want to be mine, Quinn?” he asked, keeping his voice pitched low. Quinn’s eyes were blown wide, and his nostrils flared as he caught the scent of the blood clinging to the Sith.

Ven’fir let him think, although he was sure there weren’t a lot of coherent thoughts were happening in that lovely mind right now. Quinn was attracted to him, that much was obvious, and he wanted what Ven’fir was offering.

The only question was if he would take it.

“That depends, my lord,” he murmured, “On what that will get me.”

Ven’fir chuckled.

“Protection, for one.” He assured, “Good work. The company of a handsome Sith.”

Quinn blushed, and gave him a look. Ven’fir laughed, pressing a little closer.

“Oh? How much would that cost me?”

Ven’fir reached out to brush his fingertips over other man’s jaw, leaving faint lines of blood on his skin where his slick gauntlets touched.

“Your loyalty,” he breathed, “But the last one… nothing. That’s just a bonus.”

The Imperial leaned into the touch, eyes blown wide and breath coming fast and shallow.

Ven’fir wanted him, but it was no fun if he just _took_.

It would be easy to take, and where was the challenge in that? The fun?

Ven’fir wanted this lovely thing in his bed, to feel the thrill of satisfaction from getting him there and making sure he never wanted to leave it.

He leaned closer, his mouth brushing the shell of the human’s ear.

They were almost completely flush now, and Ven’fir could feel the heat coming off the other man. He was still and his eyes were fluttering closed, his cheeks flushed.

Ven’fir’s hand drifted downwards to brush over his throat, and he felt Quinn shudder.

He had _thought_ he’d liked that, before.

He smiled, knowing the human could feel it against his skin.

“Tell me to stop.” he breathed, the order low and unyielding.

Quin bit his lip but stayed quiet.

Tentatively, he brought up his hands to rest against Ven’fir’s armour covered shoulders, and Ven’fir liked how his face looked when he was wanting.

“I know you want me.” he chuckled, “You can have me if you want, my lovely spy.”

Quinn seemed on the brink of something, eyes huge and lips parted as he breathed. This close, Ven’fir could see faint freckles over his nose and cheeks, and little flashes of silver in his dark hair. He was going silver at the temples, and Ven’fir _liked_ that.

Instead of answering, the human seemed to slip over the edge of a conclusion, and surged forwards to press his mouth to his in a desperate kiss.

A shiver went down Ven’fir’s spine as satisfied warmth purred in his chest, and he kissed back, wrapping his arms around the other man to keep him close.

The kiss was frantic, reckless, and hard, and Ven’fir sank into it.

There was teeth, panted breaths, hands, and little noises, and it was _perfect_.

Ven’fir was hungry and he _devoured_ the man in his arms.

He wound his hands into Quinn’s hair, leaving smears of blood against his temples. Quinn bit at his lower lip, his needy little noises swallowed by their kiss.

The human was having trouble finding purchase on his armour, and Ven’fir needed to be out of it _right_ _now_.

He pressed even closer, so that Quinn had to stumble back until his back hit the wall.

They broke their kiss for not a moment longer than they had to, and Ven’fir almost came undone at the sight of flushed skin, hazy blue eyes and a kiss bitten mouth.

He grinned at the dazed human that was all but melting over him and moved his hands to grip the backs of his thighs, just under the tempting curve of his behind.

He’d always liked this spot on a lover, male or female, and he watched as Quinn’s eyes widened and he grabbed onto his shoulders as Ven’fir hoisted him up, barely feeling the weight. Quinn was a slim man but he’s certainly not _light_ , but he weighed almost nothing to a Sith’s strength.

His cheeks turned an even deeper crimson and Ven’fir went in to kiss him again as he was pinned to the wall of the cell, and he could feel _exactly_ how much Quinn liked the manhandling.

He grunted approval into the kiss, feeling the human’s arms wrap around him and keep him from going anywhere.

He fully intended to get the man to his quarters as soon as he could, but for now this was more than entertaining enough.

He’d never been so pleased to have caught a spy.

* * *

Wakefulness was a pleasant sensation, each of his senses blinking online as he roused from a very satisfying sleep.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep before kicking Quinn out, but considering what they had ended up going and for how long, he felt like he could give himself a free pass. He had been delighted with just how enthusiastic the human had been, and his belly warmed at the memory of cuffs and flushed, damp skin, moans and gasps and panted orders for ‘more’ that went on long into the night.

He breathed in and opened his eyes, an ache in his arms the only thing breaking his blissful feeling.

He stretched, feeling the wonderful pop of his back, before realising why his arms hurt. They were raised above his head for some reason, and when he tried to move from what he assumed was merely an amusing sleeping position, he heard to sound of metal on metal. His stomach dropped and his eyes snapped open as he tried to sit up and found himself unable to.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

Quinn.

Ven’fir directed his gaze to the side of the bed, where the human was sitting, watching him.

He was dressed again and as immaculate as when Ven’fir had first seen him, his expression faintly amused.

“What have you done?” Ven’fir snarled, sending the Force to his arms to break the cuffs. It didn’t work, and he pulled again.

Quinn shook his head, a smile playing about the corners of his mouth. His eyes were calculating.

“Those are Force inhibitors,” he explained simply, “I appreciate you leaving them out for me last night.”

Ven’fir bared his teeth, fuming. He was going to kill the little rat.

Quinn, seemingly uncaring of the fury that was filling the room, tilted his head as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“I thought to leave a note, but that’s a bit of a faux-pas.” He smiled, “I would rather not be torn apart by an angry Sith, so I appreciate you leaving those cuffs out.”

Ven’fir glared at him.

“You’re going to wish I’d killed you; you rat.” He snapped, exerting some strength and hearing the cuffs strain. Quinn glanced at them, mildly alarmed as the metal warped. “Who do you work for?”

Quinn turned his eyes back on him.

“The Empire.” he supplied easily, his bland expression never faltering. He seemed nothing like the nervous, desperate person from the previous day. “I’m not your enemy, if you’ll believe that.”

Ven’fir continued to stare, and Quinn continued to ignore it.

“I suppose I should reintroduce myself,” he murmured, looking at Ven’fir from under his lashes. “Cipher Eight, Imperial Intelligence.”

Okay, Ven’fir had not expected _that_. It must have shown on his face because Quinn gave him a thin smile.

“You’ve been cooperative, and you treated me well as a captive, so I felt you deserved an explanation.” He admitted. “The Sith you killed on my behalf was a traitor. She needed to die without arousing suspicion. Sith infighting was the perfect cover.”

“Why didn’t you just _tell_ me?” Ven’fir demanded, his head swimming.

Quinn shook his head.

“You’re not known for selling lies well, Darth Venator.” He smiled, amused.

He sighed and stood up, and Ven’fir ran his eyes over the lines of the body he had so thoroughly explored the previous night.

“And sleeping with me? Was that part of the mission too?” he demanded, a little hurt and embarrassed.

Quinn looked slightly sheepish.

“No. That was because I wanted to.” he admitted, “I’m no good at honeypot assignments.”

Now that he wasn’t thinking with his dick, Ven’fir flexed his senses to see if he was lying.

He didn’t seem to be.

“Could have fooled me,” he snapped, bitter.

Quinn shrugged.

“I did.” He corrected, and Ven’fir sort of hated him a little.

He leaned over, and to his credit, didn’t flinch when Ven’fir half lunged at him, the cuffs straining. Another few minutes and he would be out of them, he was sure. He could feel the metal and electronics in them shearing.

Quinn smiled and regarded him from under his lashes. Oh, Ven’fir remembered how he’d begged and moaned and done anything asked of him. Ven’fir still wanted him.

Possibly more, now.

Quinn looked at him, and his blue eyes crinkled at the corners, fond. Ven’fir was left a little speechless at that, his belly warm and his pulse thundering in his ears.

Quinn pressed close, one hand flat against Ven’fir’s chest to keep him down, and kissed him.

The kiss was languid and deep, nothing like the snapping teeth and desperate need of the night before.

Ven’fir kissed him back, drinking him in like a man dying of thirst.

Eventually they parted, Quinn staying close enough to almost touch. He was smiling, his cheeks pink and heartbeat quick.

Ven’fir was enthralled.

“I’ll get out of here,” he warned softly, “And I’ll find you.”

Quinn chuckled, eyes warm.

“I hope so.” He breathed, gaze darting down to Ven’fir’s mouth and back to meet his eyes. “I’ll be seeing you, my lord.”

With that, he pulled away and was gone, a little smile thrown over his shoulder as he disappeared out of the door.

Ven’fir couldn’t hear his footsteps and knew he wouldn’t be caught.

He let out a shaky breath, letting his heartbeat go back to a vague approximation of normal.

Cipher Eight.

A laugh bubbled up and escaped his lips, bound by his wrists and naked in his own bed.

Oh, he’d be seeing him again, he would make _sure_ of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is me playing with the idea of 'what if Quinn had ended up in Imperial Intelligence after all?'.
> 
> Also, steaminess.


	28. Superpowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ven'fir is a superhero, and he's called in to handle a rather delicate situation.

“There is no way you're getting through there.”

The chief of police sighed at those words, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Are you sure? We need to rescue the hostage. If Doctor Death can barricade _himself_ in, then surely we can force _our_ way in?” she asked, hopeful.

The hero in front of her chuckled. She was a curvaceous woman with thick twin braids of dyed blonde hair trailing down her back, and a permanent smirk. Her costume, baggy street clothes, featured her famous yellow and red hoodie that bared her midriff. Small scars dotted her dark skin, and a little yellow domino mask obscured a small part of her face, revealing a broad grin and warm brown eyes. She was sarcastic and came off as quite brash, and she had the habit of talking her way into and out of trouble.

Voidhound shrugged, amused.

“If you can cut your way through that much metal, sure. He's barricaded himself in the vault, which is kind of designed to be impregnable.” She reminded.

“Can’t you cut through it?” the chief asked, and the hero shook her head.

“Nope,” she said regretfully, “I can blast at it, but my powers aren’t really enough to punch holes in things like that.” She admitted, raising a hand to show off the shimmering lightshow as she formed her fingers into the shape of a gun. “Flashy and great for taking down perps, but less good at busting into bank vaults.”

The chief felt a headache coming on.

“I can get a team here but even then it'll take them hours.” She muttered.

Voidhound put on a thinking face, glancing slyly at her.

“I know someone who can get in.”

The chief frowned, wracking her brain.

She scowled.

“Absolutely not.” She growled. “He's a liability.”

Voidhound looked a bit sheepish.

“He isn’t that bad,” she muttered. “He can get in, I know it.”

“I have no doubt he can get in,” the chief snapped. “I’m concerned about the collateral damage that delinquent will cause doing it!”

Voidhound grinned.

“And I’m not even really a hero,” she reminded, and the chief grunted.

Voidhound was, _technically_ , a villain.

One that helped the police so often that no one even tried to arrest her any more for the jewellery store break-ins and Robin Hood-esque thefts.

“Just... call him.” She sighed. “The longer we take, the longer the hostage is in danger.”

Voidhound grinned.

* * *

The chief looked up from where she was speaking with her officers, the sound of gasps and some cheers heralding the arrival of their backup.

Her expression soured.

One of her officers, a young man with a _definitely_ non-regulation fauxhawk, glanced up and his eyes widened.

She looked up as she heard rushing wind, like a jet was slicing through the air towards them.

She sighed, squinting against the sun as she looked up.

She had to admit it was impressive looking.

What looked like a comet was streaking towards them along the main street, causing the people below to look up and hold onto their hats and handbags as the phenomenon passed above them as speeds that made them blink.

The streak of light pulled up sharply when it reached the police line, looping in the sky before dropping like a stone and hitting the ground hard enough to almost crack the surface of the road.

The man that straightened from his drop wore a grin that stretched over his uncovered face.

Ven’fir Polaris, otherwise known as Wrath, was one of the few superheroes that did not have a secret identity. He was a very public and very controversial figure, with a body count higher than some of the criminals he apprehended.

Indeed, he worked as an independent vigilante rather than part of one of the sanctioned teams, who, along with a decent number of the police force, _hated_ him.

Grandmaster, the leader for the hero group known only as The Order, publicly condemned his actions as reckless and violent, which had caused quite a storm at the time.

Still, he had a significant number of fans, which probably had something to do with the skin-tight leather bodysuit he wore that was unzipped to an almost ridiculous degree, showing more skin than some female heroes did.

It was rather… flattering.

He grinned as he headed straight for her, shaking off tongues of flame as he did so, sparks skittering over the bitumen as he walked, fading quickly.

His eyes were grey and wild, and dark curls brushed his shoulders, the sunlight making his deep bronze skin look polished.

“Chief,” he greeted with the kind of smarmy smirk that made her hate him.

She jerked her head, aware that they were being watched and pictures of this would end up over the internet in _minutes_.

For all his (many) faults, Wrath was a media darling, and any time he showed his face an unfairly photogenic image of it ended up splashed over every tabloid and online forum.

“Wrath,” she grunted, having no time for his bullshit. His smile widened by a few teeth at her attitude, and she scowled under the brim of her hat. “You got here quick.”

He nodded, rolling a shoulder.

“Yeah, Voidhound texted me.”

She blinked.

She had been expecting something more… impressive that superheroes _texting_ each other.

He shrugged broad shoulders, amused.

“What? We’re friends. She cleans me out at poker every week.”

Putting that thought away somewhere… not here, she ignored him.

It was usually the best policy, after all.

“We’ve got a situation.”

He nodded.

“I would say so. Doctor Death took a hostage into the vault when his raid got busted, yeah?”

She sighed.

“That’s the gist of it, yes.” She agreed, “That vault is nigh on impregnable, and while I can have my guys crack into it, that will take hours that we don’t have. Voidhound assured me that you can get in quickly.”

He chuckled, bringing up a gloved hand and watching as tongues of flame danced along his fingers and down his arm. Smoke curled from his display of power, and she watched warily. The heat coming off him was palpable.

If that pyromaniac stayed away from her and her people, she would attempt to ignore his tendency to leave some of his more violent enemies as smoking corpses.

“I can get in,” he assured, the light from the fire making his eyes shine. His smile was a little wild. “Enough firepower will get you into anything.”

He winked, and she glared at him.

“You need to leave them _alive_.” She stressed, “ _Especially_ the hostage.”

He scoffed, snuffing out the flames with a clenched fist. Wisps of smoke curled from between his fingers.

“I’m not an idiot, Chief.” He muttered, striding past her and towards where the perimeter lies. Voidhound gave him a grin as he passes, and the two superpowered menaces fist bumped as they passed.

She watched him go, mouth thinning.

He was a dangerous vigilante with a body count, and in her opinion, he could only be called a ‘hero’ because of his tendency to do some good when there was trouble.

She watched as he strode towards the police line and deftly ducked under it, and she noticed the young officer with the non-regulation haircut giving him an appreciative look as he moved.

She sighed.

That was also a problem.

As far as gossip around the water cooler went, he’d already slept with half the department and the other half were tempted.

Honestly.

She didn’t see the appeal.

* * *

Ven’fir shot Voidhound a grin as he passed her, giving her a fist bump as she popped her bubble-gum and gave him a wink.

The thief-turned-hero and he got on well, despite their rocky beginning as he chased her after a confusion during a jewellery store robbery.

He ducked under the police tape, heading for the large double doors, cracked and spiderwebbed by whatever force had smashed into them.

The glass was shattered _outwards_.

Whatever had done the damage had been detonated from the inside.

As he walked in, more cautious now he had been the devastation first-hand, he brushed his fingers along the metal of the handrail and immediately jerked his hand back.

The metal was ice cold.

His breath hurt inside his lungs, and every exhale came in a twist of white vapour.

The bank was silent and cold, the lights on but their bulbs were covered in a thin sheen of frost, just like everything else.

He watched his footing, not wanting to end up flat on his back.

That would just be _embarrassing_.

Right, vault.

It was… probably around here somewhere?

He might have not thought that far ahead since banks didn’t exactly have signposts to their most secure area.

As he edged further inside, his eyes caught something on the floor.

Blood, frozen into icy little speckles on crimson.

It was splashed around as if there had been a scuffle, but it seemed to lead in a particular direction.

Not having any better ideas, he followed it, the cold becoming more and more oppressive as he followed the little droplets.

He didn’t like the cold.

Grunting, he igniting a flame along his hand, shivering.

As far as he knew, Doctor Death didn’t have anything to do with ice, but there was always a first time for everything.

He was _fairly_ sure that the man wasn’t really a doctor.

He continued, following the blood.

He hopped nimbly over the turnstiles and around the security scanner in his way, before coming face to face with a ruined security door.

The thing had been blasted into a mangled twist of metal and electronics, and he stepped gingerly through it, and the next three that crossed his path.

Finally, he came upon the hallway that led to the vault.

It was plain and straight, with no decoration or alcoves to hide in.

He could hear a faint noise coming from the end, a strange sort of thumping as though someone was trying to bang on the huge circular door.

Frowning, he headed for the door.

The noises continued, loud even with the heavy vault door muffling them.

Ven’fir frowned.

There was a hostage in there, and even he wasn’t callous enough to pretend that that didn’t matter.

He approached the door, laying one hand on the cool metal.

Strangely, it wasn’t iced over like the rest of the damaged building.

Not having any other way forward, he shrugged.

Pulling back a fist, he slammed it into the door in a violent facsimile of a knock.

Hopefully, that got some attention.

He paused for a moment, the noises from inside going silent.

Grinning, he ignited more flames to keep himself warm, rubbing his hands together in a shower of sparks.

“Open up!” he called, “Or I’ll tear through this door to get to you.”

A beat of silence, and then another.

Nothing.

Ven’fir mentally shrugged.

“Last chance!” he warned, charging up the temperature until the air shimmered with heat. He grinned, feeling the power seep from his very pores as he cranked it up a notch again and again.

The boring taupe paint began to peel from the walls in the extreme heat, the metal of the ruined door behind him beginning to warp and slough off onto the floor, where it ate through the tiles and onto the concrete behind it.

If any humans had been standing near him, they wouldn’t have been alive for very long.

The degrees ticked up and up, and flames licked up and down his body as though attempting to consume him.

With a grin that some might have called feral, he set his hands onto the door of the vault, and focused.

At first, nothing seemed to happen.

Then, the metal began to dull in it’s sheen before it began turning faintly crimson, then lighter scarlet, and then orange. By the time it reached white hot, the temperature was cracking the concrete.

Focusing the heat so he didn’t cause real structural damage, he used his hands to recreate a thermic torch that ate through the metal like a lava through snow.

Ven’fir’s smile was wild as he used his hands to bore holes in a vague circle, leaving the metal slagged and misshapen. He relaxed on the heat, allowing it to die down to residual levels that were more reminiscent of Death Valley than an inferno.

With a superhuman exertion of strength, he attached his fingers into the molten metal and _pulled_.

With a hideous groaning screech and a hiss of hermetic seals failing, he tore through the reinforced vault door and heaved it aside, and the cool air rushed to meet him as he rolled his shoulders and stepped inside.

Inside the vault was strangely normal considering the carnage he had wreaked outside, but it was the people that made him pause.

There were two of them, and he hadn’t been expecting _this_ , exactly.

Instead of a mad doctor holding a laser gun to the head of a terrified hostage, there appeared to be a body on the floor.

Considering the lab coat and welding goggle combo he’d got going, not to mention to puffs of white hair at the sides of his head, this looked rather like he could be Doctor Death.

It was still a stupid name.

The other person was a man that was pressed against the back wall of deposit boxes, his crisp suit rumpled and blood seeping from a cut on his cheek and another that dripped down his hand, leaving spots of crimson on the floor.

He was slender and just Ven’fir’s type, but before he could give a charming grin to the man he had presumably saved, the man glared at him.

“What time do you call _this_?” he demanded, furious. Pink blotched his cheeks, and the glasses perched on his nose slid down a few inches before he pushed them back up. “How long did you take to get in here? What, did you stop for a sandwich at the cafeteria?”

Ven’fir blinked.

He was rather used to a bit more gratitude from damsels in distress.

“Uh- sorry?” he managed, nonplussed. “What happened to him?”

He gestured to the fallen villain, whose chest was raising and falling gently to let them know he was still alive. A sleekly futuristic gun was tossed to one side, leaking something that was freezing over the marble tiles. He supposed he knew where the ice had come from.

The man frowned, crossing his arms.

“He tried to take me hostage,” he sniffed. “So, I hit him over the head with the fire extinguisher when he tried to tie me up.”

Ven’fir stared.

“You… hit him with- Oh.”

Indeed, there was a fire extinguisher laying off to one side.

This wasn’t quite going the way he had expected it to.

“Who are you?” he asked instead, getting a nasty look for his trouble.

“My name is Quinn, _Wrath_.” He said primly. “I’m the bank managers PA.”

Ven’fir nodded lamely.

“So uh, we can get out of here whenever.” He offered. “I might need to carry you over the hallway. I uh, might have cracked the concrete and melted the doors.”

Quinn gave him a filthy look, but gingerly stepped towards him anyway, sparing a haughty glance to the body snoozing on the floor.

“Bring him.” He snapped. “If he escaped because someone was slow, I’ll kill you myself.”

With that, he marched past Ven’fir and towards the door, ducking under it and storming out, grimacing at the fading heat.

Ven’fir stood there, completely baffled.

Slowly, he smiled.

Scooping up the supervillain, he slung him over his shoulder and headed for the door himself, intent on following this fascinating man out.

By the time they were blinking in the sunlight, Ven’fir had already hit on him three times and been summarily rejected, and he had found himself getting more and more enamoured with every step.

Quinn was fascinating and _lovely_.

He delivered Doctor Death to the custody of the police, who found him some cuffs and some medical attention.

Brushing off the officers, he headed for where Quinn was talking on his phone, waving away medical personnel that were trying to offer him a shiny blanket.

“-package. Yessir. Understood.” He glanced at Ven’fir sashaying towards him and his mouth thinned before he terminated the call with a stab of his thumb.

“Feeling alright?” Ven’fir asked, half genuine and half because he really wanted his number before he lost him again.

Quinn nodded, and the look he threw to Ven’fir was nothing short pf piercing.

Despite the crushing crowd around them, they seemed to be the only people to occupy this space.

“Yes.” The other man murmured primly. “No thanks to you.”

Ven’fir laughed.

“You’re really something, you know?” he grinned, rather liking this strange balance between fire and properness.

Quinn raised a dark eyebrow.

“I am? I’m just an assistant,” he assured. “I’m hardly anything to someone like you.”

Ven’fir shrugged, smiling.

“You could be,” he flirted. “How about I get your number?”

Quinn gave him an unimpressed look.

There was noise behind him, the officers making a commotion and the sound of voices, but Ven’fir ignored it.

“If you want my number,” Quinn murmured, eyes moving to something behind Ven’fir for a split second. “You’ll have to earn it.”

Ven’fir liked a challenge.

“I’ll make sure that I do.” He promised, giddy.

Quinn softened, and moved to press a lingering, soft kiss to his cheek. Under the grime of the day, he smelled like soap and something acrid that stung Ven’fir nose.

It reminded him of fireworks.

With a smile that bordered on sly, Quinn stepped away.

“I’ll see you, Wrath.” He bid, before the noise of the officers reached a crescendo and the moment was broken.

Ven’fir glanced around in irritation to see what the problem was when the Chief almost collided with him.

“Wrath!” she bit out; eyes wide. “The man you rescued, where is he?”

Ven’fir frowned and turned back to where Quinn had been a moment before, only to find him gone. He had slipped into the crowd the moment he had taken his eyes off him, and a strange feeling began curling in his gut.

“He was just here,” he muttered, a little dazed. His cheek felt warm. “I was just talking to him.”

She cursed, snapping into her radio. A small army of officers charged past in the direction Quinn must have gone, and she cursed.

Ven’fir was understandably confused.

The Chief gave him a look.

“The bank managers PA is named Sharon and she’s currently in Aruba on holiday.”

That horrible feeling was getting stronger.

“But-“

“I _know_.”

He frowned, looking at the spot Quinn had been standing, but of course he wasn’t there.

“Who was he?”

“We’re not sure yet, but the teams inside say all the safety deposit boxes are accounted for except _one_.”

Ven’fir groaned, cursing the air blue.

That firework smell hadn’t been fireworks at all. Quinn had smelled like _gunpowder_.

The Chief looked like she’d aged a decade in five minutes.

“Preliminary IDs say that he’s The Butler, spy, thief and assassin on the payroll of The Syndicate. He’s been involved in enough high profile assassinations and thefts that he’s got _copycats_.”

Ven’fir grunted, filing that information away.

The memory of that kiss and Quinn’s challenging eyes as he told Ven to earn him burned in his mind.

A spark igniting in his belly, he grinned.

Ven’fir _loved_ a challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so WEAK so spy!Malavai
> 
> (And so is Ven)


	29. Thieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ven’fir and Malavai are professional thieves, and Ven’fir gets taught a lesson in manners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of a sequel to Chapter 10 (Crime), but can absolutely be read as a standalone.

“C’mon Malavai, live a little!”

Malavai gave Ven’fir a look, folding his arms.

“No.”

The taller man rolled his eyes, a grin working its way onto his face.

“We really need to work on that fun allergy of yours,” he said, teasing. “You never do anything fun.”

Malavai scoffed and turned away, trying not to say ‘You’re fun, I’d like to do _you’_ out loud.

Ven’fir chuckled, finishing stowing the last of the USBs into his backpack. The thing looked a little stupid what with how small it was and how it was sitting over his body, but it worked perfectly for what they needed.

“How are you getting along?” he asked Malavai, glancing over as he made sure there were no fingerprints or other evidence left behind.

Malavai glanced up from they screen he was peering into, his gloves fingers flying over the keyboard.

“Almost there.” He murmured, “No need to ruin it with too much fun.” He added dryly, causing Ven’fir to laugh.

The lab they were in was, if one was prone to understatement, _secure_.

Not secure enough, though.

The information he was currently erasing from the servers, backups, secondary backups, and external storage systems was worth a small fortune to the wrong hands, which were exactly the hands that were employing them.

As a finishing touch, he left a pretty little present for whoever might try and restore the crippled systems.

Vette had put together the digital equivalent of a dirty bomb, which would take care of anyone who might have had some more backups that Malavai had missed.

He finished, cleared his tracks, and shut the whole thing down.

He straightened, ignoring how his back twinged after being bent over for so long. Perhaps he should have just sat in the chair.

“I’m done.” He announced, looking around for Ven’fir.

His partner was poking around on a desk, leaning over it to peer at something on the far side.

Malavai probably shouldn’t have looked.

He allowed himself a few seconds of uninterrupted viewing before sighing and marching over.

“What are you looking at?” he asked, tapping Ven’fir on the shoulder. “We’re on a time limit.”

Ven’fir straightened and grinned at him.

“Someone left some funny post-its,” he admitted. “Dr Simon has been flirting with Dr Xiang.”

Rolling his eyes, Malavai herded him to the door.

“I’m sure you can send them flowers,” he grunted. “But we have to get out. Now.”

Ven’fir rolled his shoulders, a wide, boyish grin on his face.

“If we must,” he sighed theatrically, “But know that you stood in the way of true love.”

Malavai scoffed.

“Love costs too much money.” He sniped back, and Ven’fir laughed.

“You’ve got it all worked out up there, don’t you?” he teased, heading for the door, sweeping his eyes over the lab one last time to make sure they hadn’t missed anything.

Malavai raised an eyebrow at him.

“Of course,” he played along, ignoring how his belly fluttered.

“Where am I at?” Ven asked absently as he poked his head into the corridor, signalling to Malavai that it was clear.

“You’re high maintenance and putting up with you would drive me to expensive therapy,” Malavai retorted like the crack of a whip.

Ven’fir paused to give him a cheeky wink.

“High maintenance is just another way of saying I only like the best,” he purred, and his smile left no wondering what he was talking about.

Malavai moved ahead of him to hide his sudden blush.

The complex they were in had been a tough nut to crack, but that was why they were employed.

They were, after all, professionals.

Ven’fir was the muscle and had been the one to recruit them all for that first heist.

Robbing The Dark Temple casino had been extremely sweet, especially since cleaning Baras out had been only _one_ of the best parts.

Their full team obviously wasn’t needed for every heist, but they often swapped members depending on their skillsets.

Just last week Malavai had partnered with Andronikos and Kal for a job, which had been an… interesting experience. The grumpy driver had not been impressed with their slick assassin and agent provocateur’s honeypot approach to the law enforcement who had spotted their car’s illegally tinted windows.

Currently Malavai was present in his role of general sneaky sort, Vette being their tech support. The labs were shielded, but the moment they were out her voice would be in his ear. Loud. Grating. Unprofessional.

They rounded the corner at the end of the corridor, following the map that Vette had downloaded onto his burner phone.

This was the way out.

Ven’fir stopped in his tracks, and Malavai glanced up.

“Well, that's not ideal.” Malavai sighed as he peered at the innocuous hallway in front of them.

Well, it would have been innocuous had it not been for the laser grid that was humming menacingly between them and the door.

He sighed, and glanced to Ven’fir.

His partner in crime was frowning, a look on his face that said he was thinking.

His mop of dark curls was pushed back from his face with a hairband to keep it out of his eyes, and Malavai marvelled at how much older it made him look.

He glanced at Malavai, grey eyes crinkling as he smiled.

Ven’fir always smiled when he looked at Malavai.

“A bit of an understatement,” he teased, amused. He peered at the humming lattice, making sure not to get too close. “I assume these will dice us, or something.”

Malavai shook his head, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“It won’t _dice us,_ ” he assured. “It'll just set off the alarms, which will lock the building down, and then the guards will turn up and they’ll shoot us.”

Ven’fir gave him a look.

“Great,” he muttered. “Why wasn’t this on the blueprints?”

Malavai sighed, frustrated.

Nerves were eating at his belly. He hated the unexpected.

“I don’t know, but I intend to ask Vette where she got her intel.” He grunted, examining the small nodes were the beams of light emanated from.

Ven’fir’s nose seemed to be getting dangerously close to one of the glowing lights, and his face was illuminated by the crimson.

It threw the rest of his features into relief, and Malavai couldn’t help but devote a small part of his brain to appreciating him.

He was extremely distracting, what with how his grey eyes crinkled when he smiled, a full mouth curving into a grin that changed his whole face.

The way he was standing made it easy to run eyes over him, and Malavai did so for a moment, trailing his gaze over the lines of his body that were clearly visible under the skin-tight roll neck that was tucked neatly into the waist of the combats he wore. Thin black gloves covered his hands, and a tube mask was bunched around his neck. His pockets were filled with various helpful items, and a length of climbing rope was neatly spooled at his waist, clipped in place. They hadn’t ever needed it so far, but Ven’fir assured him that one day it would come in handy, just like in the movies.

He folded his arms, and Malavai quickly looked away before he got even more distracted.

He turned his attention back to their problem and was about to open his mouth when Ven’fir cursed.

“I can make this.” He grunted, frowning. “Easy.”

Malavai blinked at him.

“What do you-"

His partner tossed his head, staring at the laser filled corridor like it had somehow insulted him.

“I can get through these; I know I can.” He assured Malavai, who boggled at him.

Ven’fir was strong and flexible, built like a gymnast, if gymnasts usually pushed six one. He swore he’d heard Ven’fir talk about training on the rings before, and that had spawned some _delicious_ fantasies.

Malavai had been witness to some impressive feats of core strength and more than one display of pleasant daydream inducing flexibility in their career together, but this was another thing entirely.

Also, _so_ unnecessarily dramatic.

“Listen,” he stressed, “I’m telling you that you _don’t_ need to-"

Ven’fir waved him off, and Malavai felt his mouth thin.

The other man winked at him.

“I'll be back before you know it. I bet they have a button on the other side to shut this off.”

Before Malavai could do more than stare in annoyed horror and make an aborted grabbing motion, Ven’fir had fluidly ducked between the first beams.

Displeased at being brushed off, Malavai folded his arms.

Fine.

Two could play at that game.

“If you trigger the alarm, I'll leave you behind.” He warned, tone cool. “But I promise I’ll visit you in prison.”

Ven’fir paused from where he was contorting himself to fit in the small gap between three buzzing laser beams, his back arched and his legs apart.

He shot Malavai a cheeky wink from upside down, the hairband pushing his hair from his face displaying an admirable amount of strength in the face of gravity and Ven’fir’s mop of unruly curls.

“If I go down, you're coming with me.” He assured, grinning.

Malavai, trying very hard not to run his eyes over the way his body was displayed, just gave him a look.

Ven’fir just chuckled and continued.

Dear lord, how was he _doing_ that?

Wasn’t that painful?

Oh, that was impressive.

Malavai had seen him mostly naked in a medical capacity, he knew what kind of strength Ven’fir was barely hiding beneath his clothes.

He recalled his first meeting with the charismatic criminal, suturing his wounds as Ven’fir had fought a concussion after being beaten black and blue by Baras favourite minion.

There hadn’t been much time to appreciate anything then, especially since neither Vette not Ven’fir had trusted him at the time.

Still, that hadn’t stopped the other man from flirting with him, which only increased when Vette had brought him in for the Dark Temple job.

Honestly, ignoring the flirting was getting more difficult.

Malavai wasn’t the trusting sort, but he’d been working with the crew for a while now and nothing untoward had happened.

Ven continued to hit on him, and honestly it was getting tempting. The attitude was less so, but still.

Mouth dry, he watched the man show off just how flexible he was.

Holy _shit_.

Malavai suddenly wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t already said yes to a presumably mind-blowing round or five in Ven’fir’s bed.

He could have that under his hands.

Or his tongue.

Ven’fir twisted and moved, stretching and straining as one foot came dangerously close to a humming beam.

At one point, he sent Malavai a cocky, upside-down wink.

Malavai crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, pretending to be unimpressed.

Sure, that was enough material to keep him stocked in steamy daydreams for years, but the attitude needed a thorough deflating.

He watched.

He waited.

Finally, Ven’fir nimbly stepped over the last beam, turning to fall into a dramatic, sweeping bow.

He was flushed and his skin shone with perspiration, and his already skin-tight shirt was clinging to him in ways that Malavai tried hard to ignore.

“I’ll be back for you soon!” Ven’fir called mockingly, removing his hairband, and pushing damp curls from his grinning face. Replacing his hairband, he gave Malavai a cocky smirk. “Unless you think you won’t bust a hip following me, _grandpa_?”

Malavai narrowed his eyes but couldn’t contain a self-satisfied smile of his own.

“I don’t need to,” he replied sweetly, and threw the switch that he had noted earlier when Ven’fir had talked over him.

With an anticlimactic click, the laser grid shut off.

Malavai didn’t hold his smug grin as he walked through the corridor Ven’fir had spent at least ten minutes navigating.

Ven’fir _stared_ , speechless.

His mouth hung open and his grey eyes were blown wide, his expression such potent shocked indignation that Malavai could have bottled it.

Now this was a sweet memory.

Malavai reached him and, feeling very superior, patted his cheek in a condescending manner.

“Next time,” he advised lowly, “Listen to me.”

He continued on his way, knowing Ven’fir would have to follow eventually.

A pause, before he heard booted feet hurrying to catch up with him. He hid a smile.

“Malavai-“ Ven’fir started, distraught. “What the _fuck?_ ”

“We’re leaving, not getting in. These are for people breaking _in_. Why would the button be on the outside?” he said easily, and Ven’fir’s flabbergasted expression was priceless.

“I did try and tell you.” Malavai pointed out, amused and ire long forgotten in the wake of his sweet vengeance.

Ven’fir swallowed, wrinkling his nose.

“You did.” He muttered, grudging. “I feel like an idiot now.”

Malavai was feeling quite buoyed.

“I liked the show,” he murmured, “So it wasn’t totally for nothing.”

Ven’fir’s look was so sudden that Malavai was sure he’d given himself whiplash.

He was quiet for a moment.

“Dinner?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at Malavai.

Pushing open the door that would lead them to the underground car park through a series of vents and maintenance tunnels, Malavai regarded him from under his lashes.

“Sure.” He agreed, amused. “But I pick the place, Mr High Maintenance.”

Ven’fir was still looking at him like he’d never seen him before, but he finally cracked a smile.

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ven is such a little shit, but Malavai is just as bad.


	30. Urban Fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're like a fairytale, but not.
> 
> Ven'fir runs afoul of a vengeful witch, and pays for it.

“Hey handsome, are you a naga? Because you’ve hypnotised me.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

Malavai stared, having spluttered out the words in surprise.

Who led with that kind of nonsense?

The man who was leaning against the bar was handsome in the way that Malavai liked the best, all roguish grin and nice eyes.

The man laughed, a loud, unrestrained sound.

“Sorry, I've been thinking about that line for ages, and I really wanted to use it.” He grinned, “Seriously though, can I buy you a drink?”

Malavai felt himself flush a little, and hated his fair skin for a moment.

He eyed up the other man critically. He looked human, which was fine. Not that non-humans weren’t fine of course, but sometimes there could be less than stellar surprises.

He nodded, flattered.

“Thank you,” he murmured, smiling and shy.

He was simmering with annoyance, and had been about to leave after he'd finished his drink. He'd only been out because he'd been meeting someone for a date, who had promptly stood him up.

An hour after they had been supposed to meet, he'd got a text that read ‘can’t make it, sorry’ and nothing more.

Well, she could consider herself no longer in his good graces.

Angry, hurt and embarrassed, he'd ordered something strong to take the edge off his nerves before resolving to go home and drown his sorrows in a book.

After rattling off his order to the faun bartender, he saw the taller man hold out his hand to shake.

“I'm Ven’fir,” he introduced, charming. “Lovely to meet you.”

Malavai took the hand. It was warm and rough and bigger than his.

“Malavai,” he supplied after a moment. “It's nice to meet you too.”

He took his drink, subtly dipping the tip of his finger in it and muttering a quick spell when Ven’fir was paying. A cool pulse spread over his finger, indicating that the drink was just that, a drink with no added extras. He took a sip.

Ven’fir was handsome. He was funny, and he laughed often, and he was flirting _a lot_.

He was a little brash, a little arrogant and _very_ self assured.

They talked more, Malavai telling him about being stood up while Ven’fir made sympathetic noises and told him he could do better.

Malavai told him about owning the shop, and Ven’fir talked at length about his job in the family firm.

They eventually retreated to a booth that Ven’fir spotted the moment it became free, slipping into the worn pleather seats and setting their drinks down.

Malavai, giddy and flattered at having such attention, followed.

It was nice to have this kind of appreciation directed at him, and Ven’fir wasn’t masking how interested he was.

He was clearly younger than him and far more confident, but... well, it was flattering.

He even took Malavai's slow thaw well, or at least better than other people who had called him frigid or a cold fish. Ven’fir talked about asking him on a date, and then spurred a discussion of where he might want to go. He took pains to assure him that he was genuinely interested in _Malavai_.

His head was swimming a little, but he wasn’t past tipsy yet, and he was feeling warm.

Perhaps being stood up wasn’t so bad when it led to something better?

So, when Ven’fir grinned at him and lay a hand on his knee, Malavai didn’t pull away.

“I really like you,” he heard Ven’fir murmur, looking at him warmly, charming and slick. Malavai's belly fluttered and he smiled, shy.

“Well, for someone I’ve known for a few hours, I like you too.” He admitted, rather smitten already. He knew this was probably a bad idea. He was still stinging from being stood up, hurt and embarrassed and Ven’fir was entirely too charming to be true but-

But.

He was _nice_. He was interested. He flirted like Malavai being an awkward mess wasn’t a huge turn off.

He watched the grin turn warm on that stupidly handsome face, and was full of enough compliments and alcohol to believe that a man like that could be interested in _him_.

Ven’fir tilted his head.

“So, your place for coffee?” he teased, “I'd offer mine, but unless forty-minute drives are your kind of foreplay...”

Malavai blushed. That was forward, but he found he didn’t really mind. There was something to be said for doing away with pretence.

“Mine is fine,” he murmured, trying not to sound too eager. Ven’fir was well out of his league, and it was heady. “Can... can I get your number?”

Okay, wow.

He'd actually managed to ask that. That was good. Confident. People liked confidence.

Oh, was his house fit for a visitor? Not that he was expecting Ven’fir to go inspecting his cupboards, but still.

Had he left reagents laying around, or a pentacle primed? How messy.

Ven’fir laughed.

“Sure, I’ll write it down for you when we get to yours. I can never remember it off the top of my head.”

Malavai found that weird, but since his only non-magical party trick was to recite pi to two hundred decimal places, perhaps it wasn’t strange to anyone else.

Ven’fir's knee rested against his and he was very aware of the contact.

The other man smiled winningly.

“Shall we?” he offered with a wink.

Belly fluttering and feeling rather swept off his feet, Malavai nodded, smiling.

* * *

Malavai woke up slowly.

He roused from a deep sleep with a wonderful feeling of having rested after strenuous activity, stretching and shivering as his muscles pulled pleasantly, and his back gave a pop.

He smiled to himself, not quite believing that an evening that had gone so badly wrong at the start had managed to end so well.

Ven’fir was a _lot_ of fun, and Malavai’s aches were a testament to that.

The other man was shameless and knew what he wanted, seemingly determined to wring out every noise he could from Malavai. He blushed at the memory of the things he'd done. It had been a thrilling, extremely pleasurable experience. He was nice, and funny, and he kept up a steady stream of compliments Malavai couldn’t say he wasn’t immune to.

He had said they would see each other again, and asked Malavai if he wanted to go out for breakfast and coffee in the morning. Malavai had enthusiastically accepted.

Warm and comfortable, he stretched again, and rolled over, expecting to see Ven’fir.

Instead, he was met with empty sheets.

Frowning, he sat up.

It was very quiet.

Taking the sheets with him, he stood on shaky legs, his feeling of warmth and comfort fading.

Ven’fir said he was planning on staying. Had he gone for a shower?

He checked the bathroom.

Nothing.

He padded downstairs.

Nothing.

Cold and with gooseflesh on his arms, he looked around. No shoes or a jacket or keys were left.

He muttered a quick spell, a faint pulse of smoky purple light emanating from him in a ring. Nothing returned.

No signs of life close by.

He wasn’t here.

Malavai hadn’t been given a chance to get his number, since the moment he'd asked the question at home, Ven’fir had brushed him off and kissed him so hard he decided to ask again in the morning.

Something cold curled in his gut.

Ven’fir had been nice. He'd assured Malavai that he really liked him, that he wanted to get to know him better, that he was interested in _him._

He swallowed painfully.

Perhaps he’d had to leave for an emergency.

Malavai had slipped his number, written on a napkin, into the pocket of the leather jacket that smelled like sandalwood and warmth. He'd thought he was being fun, and Ven’fir would find it later.

He headed back upstairs to find his phone.

Nothing.

He sat on the bed, cold and with his fists clenched.

Oh, how _stupid_.

How painfully, embarrassingly _stupid._

Some handsome man had given him compliments and bought him drinks and charmed his way into his bed, telling him that he was special and worth sticking around for.

And Malavai had _believed_ him.

He suddenly felt horrible.

He needed a shower.

Now.

* * *

He had never been good at feeling sorry for himself.

It always ended up pushed down behind control and icy anger, and it had worked fine before.

He tidied the house, changed his bedsheets (and refused to think about anything while he did it), and went to the gym.

He gave a quiet thank-you to the elf at the front desk who looked as tired as he felt and let his mind empty as he went through his routine.

He showered again when he was done, feeling better, and checked his watch. Half eight in the morning. Perfect.

His shop was crammed between a coffee place and a bookshop, and he breathed in the scented air as he stepped inside.

This was calming.

It was his space.

More than just familiarity, the wards sang as they greeted him, and the security measures let him know that no one had tried to enter since he had locked up the night before.

He took a deep breath, pushed down his feelings, and got to work.

He brushed his fingers against the large glass ball that sat in an ornate stand on the counter, and it came to life with a soft glow. Magic pulsed and twisted inside, and he felt the shop coming alive under his touch.

He smiled.

The walls were covered in shelves of neatly stacked items, from potions in immaculately labelled bottles to boxes of talismans and simple charms. Large crystals dominated one display case, and another was filled with various objects that one needed to read the descriptions to put a name to.

The other wall was completely dominated by books, ordered and perfectly filed.

Bundles of herbs and other ingredients were separated into their own trays, and wooden bins full of powders and shavings sat in one corner. Pre-made bundles for simple spells were available behind the counter, and some more potent magical artifacts were displayed there, as well as a door that led to his office and lab, visibly warded with sigils and power.

Malavai breathed it all in and flipped his sign, ready to start his day and put the previous night behind him.

Settling down to replenish his stocks of charms, he sat behind his counter to make them, breathing just the smallest bit of power into them. Charms for intellect, luck, protection, and virility were his most popular, and he didn’t mind the repetitive task of creating them.

Pushing his glasses further up his nose, he got to work bending the twigs of walnut into a circle, binding them with dyed thread and adorning them with beads.

Walnut for clarity and mental swiftness, blue thread for confidence and success, purple for imagination. An owl feather for intellect, and beads of lapis lazuli for enlightenment and clarity. They were nothing without his magic to weave them into something useful, and he added small pieces of himself to the charm as he made it. Not enough to tire him or even really notice, but as he breathed life into the meaning he wanted the charm to have, he could feel it’s components resonating with him. The beads were enchanted with minor spells and carried most of the magic, and he felt it brush against his senses. To the ordinary person, carrying lapis in their pocket or weaving owl feathers in their hair had a placebo effect; it took a practitioner to bind them together and make them work towards a greater purpose.

In this case, the purpose of a charm for mental acuity.

He inspected it before setting it aside and starting on one for a brighter mood.

Maybe he should make his own one of those.

He already carried his own charms, personal ones that took the form of somewhat more polished pieces.

A necklace that sat under his shirt was labradorite set in silver, engraved with sigils and enchanted to within an inch of its life. A ring on one finger was mpingo inlaid with bone, runes carved on the inside.

 _Hrek’ii,_ for control.

 _Dju,_ for power.

 _Mkuo’bo,_ for magic.

 _Aen,_ for quick wittedness.

After a few hours of work, stopping only to serve the customers that came in, something brushed his foot, and he looked down.

Ori, his familiar, butted against his shin and looked at him with accusing eyes.

The cat, a Russian blue tomcat with eyes the colour of sea glass, seemed to ask a question.

Malavai sighed, reaching down to pick him up.

“Sorry,” he murmured, burying his nose in Ori’s fur. “I forgot to feed you this morning.”

Ori, sensing his master’s distress, began to purr, pushing his forehead into Malavai’s temple in a gesture of affection.

Malavai held him close and closed his eyes. Ori was a good cat, a good familiar.

He was almost human in his intelligence, and Malavai let him do whatever he liked. Sometimes, that was staying at the shop if he wanted to.

He cuddled up to Malavai, who pressed a kiss to the top of his soft head, smiling and feeling better.

“You can always cheer me up,” he whispered, before setting the cat down and standing up. “If you ever meet a man called Ven’fir, bite him.” He muttered sourly, “And maybe throw up on him for me.”

Ori seemed to give him a look but trotted off to the back room where his food bowl was.

Malavai smiled.

Ori could always lift his mood.

* * *

Days went by, then weeks.

The last kernels of hope that Ven’fir had simply been called away for an emergency dissolved into nothing when he didn’t call.

Malavai wasn’t upset about the loss of the person, he hadn’t known him long enough for that, but he did feel stupid. Hurt. Used.

He should probably just get over it, but he was _angry_.

It was a strange feeling of loss for something he had never actually had.

Ven’fir had been nice. Complimented him, been charming and acted like Malavai had charmed him too.

Non-magically, of course.

No one really bothered with him that way. He got flirted with sometimes, and once or twice some wandering hands had needed to be shoved away, but the moment he opened his mouth, he saw interest wane.

He was _weird_.

Not even the non-humans found that attractive, not really. He didn’t exactly have a large sample size to work with either, considering his devotion to his craft.

Witches weren’t common, and Malavai just happened to be one.

He felt stupid and embarrassed that all it had taken were some charming lies and a pretty smile, and he’d let someone into his bed.

Sex wasn’t supposed to make you feel dirty afterwards.

He supposed that was what he got for taking someone home from the bar.

He sighed, walking through the park with his coat on and a scarf around his neck. Ori kept pace with him, not bothered by the chill.

Malavai carried a bag in one hand, full of books that he needed to reference to further his research.

He’d always been exceptionally good at necromancy, but certain demons were better.

He continued walking, enjoying the crisp autumn afternoon. The shop closed for one afternoon a week, and this was it.

“-And then he signed it anyway!”

He blinked.

He knew what voice from somewhere-

Someone walked into him, and he stumbled back, a spell on his lips before he realised it was just a clumsy pedestrian.

Concerned, he checked that Ori hadn’t been stepped on, and glanced up again.

Surprised grey eyes met his own, and suddenly it didn’t seem like such a nice day.

Ven’fir stood in front of him, halfway reaching out to help steady him, and his expression one of wide-eyed surprise.

A young woman stood at his elbow, short and with her blue hair in twin braids that trailed down her back.

Malavai scowled.

“You.” He sneered, and Ven’fir looked taken aback, awkward and sheepish.

He grinned, and this time Malavai didn’t find it so charming.

“Uh, hi.” He said winningly, but it faltered when he noted that Malavai didn’t seem to be buying it. “I didn’t expect to see you today, handsome.”

Oh, Malavai was going to kill him.

He clenched his fists.

“Oh, I’ll bet you didn’t.” he snapped. “I was having such a pleasant day too, but now something seems to have made me feel quite sick.”

Ven’fir held up his hands, awkward.

“Okay, I don’t know why you’re so upset but there’s no need for insults.” He soothed, smiling kindly. “I think you might have misinterpreted-“

“You knew damn well you had no intention of staying with me.” Malavai cut him off, hurt coming back like a knife to the ribs. “And yet you said all the right things to get me to do anything you wanted.”

Ven’fir looked extremely uncomfortable when faced with that. The young woman at his side narrowed her eyes at him, but looked back to Malavai. They were such bright blue that he thought she couldn’t be human, and his hunch was proved correct when her hair revealed pointed ears.

“Hey, who do you think-“

“Shut up.” Malavai snapped at her, vicious. He was fuming, and he could feel his magic sparking as he got more annoyed. “This doesn’t involve _you_.”

She didn’t listen and opened her mouth again to speak, but a hiss made her jump.

Ori, fur on end and eyes dilated, was hissing at her, teeth bared. He was a big cat, and she took a step back.

Ven’fir gave a soothing, boyish grin.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, and Malavai stared at him. If he were apologising, Malavai would at least listen. His body shifted and he was inviting again, looking out from under his eyelashes. He looked Malavai up and down, teasing. “How about I make it up to you with another night of-“

Malavai saw red.

What a _bastard_.

What a heartless, selfish _brat_.

“You _snake_.” He accused, marching up to the taller man and grabbing his face with his free hand. Ven’fir looked startled, and the young woman’s eyes were wide.

Malavai smiled, satisfied, humourless and mean.

“Since your words can’t be trusted, let’s make it more obvious, shall we?” he muttered, pulling together some webs of magic and muttering his spells.

The young woman’s eyes widened to saucers and she moved to stop him, but Ori hissed at her and took a swipe at her. She aimed a kick at him, but the sparks flying off his fur seemed to dissuade her.

He chanted under his breath, pulling on the threads of what he wanted the curse to do.

The air shivered, and colour bleached from around them. The grass seemed to grow at an accelerate rate, and worms and other insects began to writhe as they pushed up from the earth.

More powerful curses required rituals and months of preparation, but simple ones were well within his scope of power.

Ven’fir seems to be attempting to move under his spell but was unable. His eyes were wide, and he seemed both concerned and angry.

Malavai finished knitting his spells, feeling them settle on the other man. He grinned, stepping away and calling Ori to him.

The air shivered and settled, and the grass stopped its mad growth. The insects and worms calmed, and began to return underground. Malavai's magic was a strange balance between life and death, and such things were his speciality. He could heal with a word, or wither with a touch.

Ven’fir was clutching his face, horrified.

He looked up and opened his mouth to speak.

A sibilant hiss emanated from his mouth, and the tip of a forked tongue poked from between his lips. A distressed hiss came next, followed by a furious glare at Malavai.

The witch could understand the hisses, but no one else would be able to. After all, if he changed his ways and came to apologise properly, Malavai needed to be able to understand him.

The young woman, an elf or other fey by the look of her, glared.

“Witch.” she spat, and Malavai shrugged.

“ _Bitch_.” He replied in kind, sweetly.

“What have you done to him?” she demanded, ignoring his insult.

“I’ve cursed him,” he admitted easily, pleased with himself. Witches were petty, cruel things. He wasn’t an exception. “Now it’s obvious that he’s a lying, selfish, heartless, manipulative piece of shit.”

“Remove it,” she ordered, “ _Now_.”

He gave her a look.

“No. If he learns his lesson, I’ll consider it.” He said easily. “Until then, he isn’t going to be telling any more lies to get people in his bed.”

She seemed about ready to fly at him but restrained herself.

“You’re just bitter you were a one-night stand,” she hissed. “This is cruel.”

He swallowed painfully.

“If I was to be a one-night stand, he should have said so.” He shot back. “Not lied to me to get me to let him in my bed and then run off without a word.”

He swallowed, composing himself. He felt tired and drained and it wasn’t because of the magic.

He looked to Ven’fir, who was glaring.

“You really hurt me; you know.” Malavai informed him, trying to keep his tone steady. “Although I suppose I share some of the blame for believing someone could ever want to be around me without ulterior motive.”

He swallowed, needing to be gone.

“Come, Ori.” He managed, turning and walking quickly away with his head bowed as people stared. The young woman was fussing over Ven’fir.

Malavai just wanted to go home.

* * *

It didn’t take long for them to find him.

Four days, and the bell on his door chimed to let him know he had visitors. Ori, perched on the counter, growled in warning.

The blue haired woman was there, looking like she wanted to kill him.

Like she could, in his nexus of power. His shop was _his_.

With a snap of his fingers he could have demons at his call and the elements as his shields.

Ven’fir was as handsome as ever, except when the forked tongue flickered out from between his lips.

Malavai couldn’t hold a satisfied smile.

“Good morning,” he greeted, and Ori kept growling. “Can I assist you at all?”

“Yeah,” the young woman sighed. “Take the fucking curse off this _idiot_.”

Malavai glanced to Ven’fir, who glared. Apparently she wasn’t pleased with his behaviour either.

“Has he learned his lesson about being a selfish, manipulative arse? No? Then no.”

Ven’fir narrowed his eyes and produced a notebook. He passed it to Malavai, who glanced at it and laughed.

He tossed it back.

“Money? You’re original.” He mocked. “I don’t want your money.”

He gave a thin smile, pleased with himself.

“I want you to suffer.”

The young woman aimed a pointed finger in his direction.

“You’re a bastard, you know that?” she accused, and she looked tired. They had probably been trying to remove the curse already. Good luck to them.

He regarded her coolly.

“Yes, I am.” He murmured. “I’m also petty, vindictive, and better with curses than anyone you’ll find, so good luck getting rid of it without fulfilling its end clause.”

Ven’fir scowled, folding his arms.

“ _I’m not leaving until you remove it._ ” He warned, but all that came out were hisses, the words making sense in Malavai’s mind. With how the woman cringed, it sounded horrible to her ears.

Malavai gave him a look.

“I’ll throw you out.” He assured. “Or I can fry you. I’ve got nastier wards if you’d like to see them?”

 _“You didn’t tell me you were a witch.”_ He accused, and Malavai sighed.

“I didn’t,” he allowed. “Did it matter? I told you I owned a magic shop, I told you my name, I told you lots of things about me. Things I wouldn’t have said if you hadn’t got me half drunk and made me feel like someone actually gave a shit.”

Ven’fir swallowed, his expression losing it’s hard edge.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ he said, low. “ _I didn’t mean to hurt you like that. I just thought… well, I guess I thought it wouldn’t matter.”_

Malavai frowned.

“Well, it did matter.” He assured. “And that apology is only because I’ve forced you to feel bad. I don’t think you’d think twice about doing it again to someone else. The curse stays on.”

The taller man sighed.

“ _C’mon Vette,”_ he said, before cringing when he realised the woman, Vette, wouldn’t understand him.

He gestured for her to leave with him, and she threw a nasty glare at Malavai before she made to go.

Ven’fir glanced back.

“ _I meant what I said,”_ He threw back, “ _I won’t leave until you fix me. I’ll see you tomorrow, witch.”_

Malavai folded his arms.

“Looking forward to it,” he bid in a tone that said that wasn’t true at all.

He sighed when they were gone and raised a hand to pet Ori.

What a mess.

* * *

True to his word, Ven’fir turned up the next day.

And the next, and the next.

At first, he just sat there, scowling at Malavai, and talking at him.

Malavai happily put a little spell over his ears and got on with his day.

Ven’fir had started sending rude hand signs his way instead, and holding up a sign that said ‘the witch cursed me’ as customers came in.

Some looked concerned, but most just laughed.

Ven’fir stopped holding up the sign.

Eventually, he got bored.

“ _Malavai?”_ he asked, tilting his head. “ _I already said sorry. Why won’t you take this off me?”_

Malavai looked up from where he was peering at a book, his glasses slipping down his nose and the blood inked fountain pen poised in his other hand.

“Because you don’t mean it.” he said simply, “You’re just sorry someone is making you pay for what you did.”

Ven’fir looked away.

* * *

Malavai was struggling with a huge box of wardstones for his latest commission, hauling them over the floor and wishing he could remember the enchantment to make things weigh less.

Ven’fir watched him for a moment, before giving a hissing sigh and slipping off the counter he’d perched himself on and bending down to help.

Malavai glanced up, surprised, but the other man just shrugged and helped haul the stones to where they needed to be.

Malavai felt awkward.

“Thank you,” he managed stiffly, keeping his distance.

Ven’fir looked just as uncomfortable.

“ _I might as well help if I’m here.”_ He muttered and headed back to his perch.

Malavai watched him go.

* * *

Ven’fir watched him as he worked, his expression more curious than annoyed.

Malavai was fiddling with a witchstone and tracing sigils in the air with his other hand, faintly glowing trails following his fingers as he moved.

The stone was worn smooth by water and time, a natural hole bored into it. It felt cold and faintly rough in his hand, and it was heavier than it should have been for its size. Witchstones, or hag stones, were naturally formed, and Malavai had a small collection of them.

The air felt heavy and cold, the faintest feeling of damp was beginning to pervade the lab that they were in, and the oppressive stillness was unnerving Ven’fir.

Their air tasted like cold and rot as though they were standing in gravedirt, and the strange black candles burned with dancing blue light, giving off no heat.

Ven’fir shivered, his presence a single spark of warmth as Malavai continued his work.

He held the witchstone to his eye and looked through it, his other firmly shut.

He heard Ven’fir gasp and moved to look more closely at him, and he fought the urge to blink as he shifted in front of him.

His spirit was almost blindingly bright, giving off enough warmth to make Malavai almost forget the magic that he was weaving. Frost clung to his fingertips and his eyelashes, and he knew that Ven’fir could see a flickering of gravelight in the bleached socket of a skull from the other side of the stone.

“ _What is_ that _?_ ” Ven’fir murmured, almost not noticing the hisses that came out of his mouth. “ _Why can I see your_ bones _?”_

“Witchstone,” Malavai muttered, barely moving his mouth. “It allows me to see through the Veil.”

“ _Wow_.”

Indistinct wraiths fluttered in a translucent mass all around them, pressing close and whispering promises and curses in equal measure.

They were drawn to witches and other magical beings, drawn to the sparks of life and magic like moths to a flame.

Malavai ignored them, concentrating on the whispers that filled his ears.

The hand that was writing sigils in the air was dusted with shimmering frost which flaked off in glittering pieces.

His breath was a twist of white vapour, barely visible with how shallowly he was breathing.

His heartbeat was beginning to slow.

His eye ached, a headache forming behind it.

Almost there.

He kept listening to the whispers, the air getting painfully cold and heavy.

Ven’fir’s warmth came closer.

“ _Malavai? You look half dead. Stop.”_

He sounded concerned.

“Just a few more...” Malavai murmured, and his jaw ached with the tiny movement.

His hand, half frozen and almost purple, traced the last of the sigils.

His fingers were clawed with cold.

“ _Malavai!”_

Tracing the last sigil, he ripped the witchstone from his eye and took a deep breath of frozen air.

Something warm was around him, and he realised that it was Ven’fir, who looked deeply concerned.

Malavai shoved him away, blinking away the frost coating his lashes.

“Don’t touch me.” He ordered, and Ven’fir held his hands up in surrender.

He looked frustrated and tense.

“ _Are you alright?”_ he asked, eyes searching.

Malavai scoffed, calming his nerves and conjuring a flame in his palm.

Warmth surged through him.

“Of course I am,” he snapped. “I know what I’m doing.”

Ven’fir backed off, worried and irritated.

“ _Well, excuse me for being concerned._ ” He shot back, “ _You looked like you were about to fall over.”_

Malavai gave him a look, snuffing the flames out as he clenched his fist.

“Don’t put too much thought into me,” he advised coolly, “You'll forget me soon enough, I’m sure.”

Ven’fir just looked at him, and something about his expression was sad.

Malavai turned away.

* * *

“So um, it’s not really an issue with… with uh, _willingness_ , It’s more um, a… well-“

Malavai held up a hand, amused and exasperated in equal measure.

The man in front of him was wringing his hands and looking hopeful. His wife nodded earnestly, clinging to his arm, and smiling encouragingly.

“No need to explain further, sir.” He said simply, ignoring Ven’fir’s hyena-like grin as he lounged in the background. He rummaged around in the trays beside him, gathering a bundle of tried herbs. With a flick of his fingers and a murmured word, a spark ignited the bundle, which began to give off fragrant smoke, thick and choking.

He blew a small amount of it directly into the man’s face, and he coughed, eyes beginning to stream. His wife looked concerned, but when Malavai extinguished it with another word, his customer breathed in a huge lungful of fresh air.

Ven’fir was looking at the scene with curiosity, but Malavai continued to ignore him.

His customer glanced down and, with rapidly reddening cheeks, shifted awkwardly.

Malavai rebound the herbs, loftily ignoring the situation in front of him.

“It’s working!” The wife crowed, delighted.

Malavai handed over the bundle, keeping his expression purposefully blank.

“Burn this,” he said flatly, “One lungful will give you an hour.”

The man, red faced and embarrassed, but unable to keep the smile off his face, accepted the bundle and held it like it was a baby.

“It won’t help with fertility or stamina,” Malavai warned, professional. “I have other things for those. Consult a professional if the effects last longer than four hours.”

The couple, profusely thanking him with red, beaming faces, pressed his payment into his hands and practically ran out of the shop.

Shaking his head, Malavai tidied up and put the money in his till.

“ _So_ ,” Ven’fir grinned, slinking over. “ _I can see how that would come in handy.”_

The witch pinned him with an unimpressed look.

“I didn’t realise you were so open about your problems,” he shot back, “So inspiring.”

Ven’fir raised an eyebrow, smirking.

“ _I have no trouble with that, as I know_ you _remember."_

Malavai did remember.

He also remembered that awful feeling as he changed his bedsheets and went for another shower, shame curling in his belly.

Without replying, he headed for his lab, closing the door in Ven’fir’s confused face.

* * *

“ _Here, you look like you need it.”_

Malavai looked at the tea that was being held in front of his face, gently steaming.

He pushed his glasses up his nose, blinking as his eyes adjusted. He had been working on a new blend of herbs, the grinding of the mortar and pestle lulling him into an almost trancelike state.

He accepted the mug, patterned with pretty patterns and colours.

Ven’fir shot him a crooked little grin, his own mug in his hands.

“ _Took the liberty of using your kettle_ ,” He murmured, “ _Sorry_.”

Malavai cradled the mug, allowing the warmth to seep into his fingers.

Ven’fir looked different in the low light of the late afternoon, less polished and more comfortable. He didn’t glare at Malavai anymore, and his eyes were soft.

“Why are you sorrier about using my kettle than you are about lying to me?” Malavai asked, regarding him over the rim of the mug.

Ven’fir went quite still, swallowing painfully. He carefully resumed his perch on the small loveseat that he had all but claimed, filling it with cushions and books.

Malavai shouldn’t have let him.

He took a measured sip from his mug, wrapping his hands around it and glancing at Malavai from under his lashes.

“ _It’s different_ ,” he admitted. “ _I never even thought it might hurt you, you know? I know it did now, but at the time? It didn’t even occur. It’s been done to me so often I assumed you would realise the game.” He sighed. “I know I shouldn’t have done it; I_ do.”

Malavai sighed.

“It was habit, then?”

Ven’fir’s expression was guilty.

“ _Yeah_.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

The other man sighed, closing his eyes. He breathed in the steam from his drink.

“ _I know_. _I_ am _sorry.”_ He paused; shoulders hunched. “ _That kind of thing… It’s a_ symptom _. It’s… yeah. I know why I do these things but looking too hard at the reason hurts_.”

That touched something inside Malavai, something that twinged when he brushed against it now and then, something he didn’t like investigating too closely.

He took a breath, focusing on the way the last dregs of sunlight streamed through the window and illuminated the shop with golden light. This was his favourite time of the day, when everything was hazy and warm, the shadows long and the air glittering.

“Tell me?”

Ven’fir looked up sharply at that, and his face broke into a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. The smile was sharp and mean, and something about it reminded Malavai of things not of this world.

“ _I’m a spoiled little brat, Malavai_.” He laughed hollowly, “ _That’s what people like me do, we take without thinking. We want something, we have to have it._ ”

His knuckles were white, grey eyes shadowed.

“ _I wanted you, so I made sure I had you. Simple as that. People like me don’t think about consequences, you know that._ ”

Malavai watched him and tasted the bitterness of his words on his tongue.

“Why?”

Ven’fir frowned, confused.

“If you know it’s wrong, why don’t you stop?” Malavai clarified, his belly squirming and breath painful.

The other man chuckled, leaning back and forcibly relaxing his shoulders.

“ _Because it’s habit. It’s unconscious, you know? You do it too_.” He murmured, shrewd. “ _You push people away. You hide behind your books and your spells and your routines, but they’re just filling the missing parts in you. Same for me, only I hurt others when I do it._ ” He shrugged. “ _I have missing parts I need to fill too._ ”

He grinned at Malavai, the lines around his eyes thrown into relief by the sunset. He seemed empty, and yet so full of _everything_.

“ _It’s like bandages on a sinking ship._ ”

Malavai swallowed painfully and couldn’t bear to look at him.

* * *

“ _That’s amazing._ ”

Malavai glanced over from where he was working, seeing how Ven’fir watched with huge eyes.

He gave a thin smile, his hands not stopping their movement.

“It’s just magic.” He murmured. It was. It wasn’t even anything special or impressive. He was weaving a spell to regulate the temperature in his shop better, that was all.

Still, Ven’fir seemed fascinated.

“ _What does it feel like?_ ” The human asked, uncurling himself from his perch and coming over to peer at how Malavai was casting. One hand was in the air, making the movements, the other was on the lump of crystal that served as his keystone. His grimoire lay in front of him, with his notes and diagrams filling the pages.

What a strange question.

“It feels like magic,” he muttered, keeping his eyes on his grimoire. “To me, it’s like breathing. I suppose it tingles a little, as if there’s bubbles under my skin. Different magic gives different feelings.”

“ _Wow_.”

“You’ve seen magic before.” Malavai reminded. “It’s everywhere.”

Ven’fir huffed.

“ _Yes, of course. But I’ve never seen someone weave it like you do. I suppose that’s why witches are special._ ” He murmured, the light from the spellwork washing his colour out and replacing it with shades of blue and green.

He smiled, and Malavai felt his belly flutter at his boyish amazement.

* * *

“ _Malavai_?”

“What?” he grunted, engrossed in his task of brewing a mixture that would eventually become a salve.

“ _I need to go._ ”

Malavai glanced up, surprised. Ven’fir had been a constant fixture in his shop for weeks, teasing and talking and generally being a nuisance.

The other man didn’t look happy.

“ _I told you I worked for my family?_ ” He murmured, pained. “ _Well, they just fired me._ ”

He fumbled with the bottle in his hand and just about saved it, staring at Ven’fir.

“Why?”

Ven’fir gave a humourless smile.

“ _They found out about this._ ” He admitted, voice low as he gestured around him, and them at his own face. The curse. “ _I had told them I was on holiday._ ”

“You lied again.”

Malavai regretted the words as soon as they came out. Ven’fir glared at him, fists clenched.

“ _Yeah, I fucking lied._ ” He shot back, “ _Do you have any idea what would happen if they knew someone had done this to me? That I had been weak?_ ”

His face was tired, and he looked older than he should have.

“ _Well, I guess you’ll find out soon._ ” He sighed. “ _Since I got caught lying,_ and _they know about this. I need to clear out my office. I’ll be back later.”_

He would have to go in there, face the people and the whispers. Everyone would know what had happened. The curse wasn’t subtle.

Malavai swallowed painfully.

He could remove it.

Ven’fir could pretend it never happened, that it had just been a misunderstanding or a coup.

Malavai watched as he opened the door and walked out, his head low.

He said nothing.

* * *

Ven’fir came back much later, tired and worn.

“You didn’t have to come back today.” Malavai said as he handed him a mug of herbal tea.

Ven’fir gave a twitch that was supposed to be a laugh.

“ _Where else would I go? Sit at home in silence, where people could find me and make me talk? No. Here’s fine_.”

Malavai sat down next to him, the shop empty and the blinds drawn down over the windows, letting the world know that he was closed.

“What happened?” He asked gently, a sick, nauseous feeling curling in his stomach. He hated it.

Ven’fir gave a hollow smile, cradling the mug.

“ _I got my stuff, I left. Everyone watched._ ” He muttered, “ _My mother made sure they all knew_.”

“She sounds like a bitch.”

Okay, Malavai hadn’t meant to say that. He blushed, and Ven’fir gave a startled laugh.

“ _Yeah, she is. Heartless old crow._ ” He sighed, smile fading.

He paused.

“ _You know, she’s the one who taught me that I should take what I want. If someone is too weak to resist, I shouldn’t feel bad about using them. They deserve it for being weak. Anything is permitted if it gets you what you want. I showed that I was weak. That I wasn’t useful anymore. Not worthy.”_

He drew in a shuddering breath.

“ _I guess you’re pleased._ ” He said with a watery smile, glancing at Malavai. “ _You’ve ruined me quite neatly, I think._ ”

His throat hurt.

Guilt was making him feel sick.

Had he?

Had he gone too far?

He remembered the shame.

“You did this to yourself.” He reminded, harsh. “You hurt me, so I hurt you.”

Ven’fir’s shoulders shook, and his eyes swam even as his mouth pulled into a snarl.

 _“What more do you want from me?”_ he demanded, furious. “ _What more can I possibly give you before you’re satisfied that I’m sorry I lied to you so I could get another fucking night of comfort from a stranger?”_

He set the mug down too hard, and some tea spilled over the edge.

“ _I’m sorry! I’m fucking sorry, alright? I’ve said it a thousand times, but you’re not satisfied!”_ he accused, tired and worn and hurt. “ _You said you wanted me to suffer? Well, you’ve done that but it’s still not enough!”_

Malavai was paralysed, ice water creeping through his veins and fire in his cheeks.

Ven’fir’s anger seemed to abate to a background simmer, and he looked pitiful.

“ _I don’t know what else I can give you.”_

Horror was blooming in Malavai’s mind, and he felt his finger burn from the heat of the mug in his white knuckled grip.

He didn’t want Ven’fir to go.

If the curse were gone, he would leave.

Malavai wanted him to stay.

He felt tears prickle at his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He rasped, the lump in his throat waking it hard to speak. His words came out in a rush. “I never meant to go this far. I didn’t think… I didn’t think that it would do _this_.”

Ven’fir’s shoulders were hunched.

“ _Well, it has. Are you happy, or do you want to turn me into a frog, too?_ ”

That startled a tiny laugh out of Malavai, hysterical and involuntary.

“I can’t do that.” He muttered, and Ven’fir gave a tired chuckle.

“You can do anything.”

He seemed so _sure_.

It hurt to correct him.

“No,” he reminded gently, “I can’t.”

He took a shaking breath. “I’m sorry.”

Ven’fir just watched him.

Malavai steeled his nerve. He had to. It wasn’t right.

“I’ll take it off.”

He lifted a hand to steady Ven’fir and keep him in place. His eyes were wide, and they only grew wider as Malavai leaned in and kissed him.

He felt magic well up like blood at a wound, unravelling as he drew it into himself.

 _It’s done_ , he whispered to it. _Stop_.

The magic did as it was told, working to unpick what it had been holding in place all these weeks.

 _Put it back_ , Malavai urged. _Make everything alright again._

Ven’fir’s kiss was warm and he was leaning into the kiss. His cheeks were damp, and his mouth tasted like salt and herbal tea.

Malavai pulled away, and it hurt to do so.

He committed the feeling of his warmth to memory, before removing his hand.

“There,” he whispered, forcing a smile. “It’s done. I’ve lifted the curse.”

Ven’fir was staring at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

His cheeks were flushed, and tear tracks were drying on his face.

“Malavai?”

His voice came out normally, with no hisses or sibilant inflections. His tongue was no longer the forked one that had unnerved Vette so much, and he swallowed painfully.

“I- Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Malavai murmured. “Not after I hurt you.”

Ven’fir shrugged, a tired smile working it’s way onto his face. “I think we hurt each other.”

Malavai couldn’t disagree with that.

* * *

It was quiet, in the shop.

Malavai wasn’t sure when he’d begun to enjoy the background noise of Ven’fir’s hissing chatter as he worked, but it was notable in its absence.

He worked on, Ori curled up next to the keystone and enjoying the warmth it gave off.

He hadn’t heard from Ven’fir since he’d left after Malavai removed the curse. Malavai hadn’t expected him to stay or hang around after it was gone, but…

He missed him.

What a useless fool.

He couldn’t even do revenge right.

He twisted holly and rose together and picked up the thread for the charm he was making.

He was feeling restless and apathetic, and he found himself disinterested in what had previously moved him.

He hated the feeling.

He’d almost crippled a shoplifter earlier in the week, and the woman had shrieked in horror as her arm began to wither and decay under his touch.

He’d restored her easily enough, but the police had been less than pleased when he’d turned her over as she sobbed and ranted about witches.

He sighed, reaching over to run his hands over Ori’s fur, feeling the softness and warmth under his fingertips.

At least his familiar was still around.

He turned back to his work, only for the bell to sound as someone opened the door.

He glanced up, and his stomach clenched.

Ven’fir stood there, broad frame filling the doorway as he stepped inside.

He looked good.

Malavai swallowed hard, head swimming.

The other man was smiling, and his eyes were warm as he came up to the counter where Malavai was working.

“Hey,” he greeted, fond. “I heard a witch runs this shop.”

Malavai tried to stop a smile, even as his eyes drank him in.

“You heard right.” He responded, attempting to keep his voice steady. He wasn’t sure if he succeeded.

Ven’fir grinned, boyish and affectionate.

“Well, I think he’s put a charm on me.” He murmured, voice low. It made a shiver run down Malavai’s spine.

“He sounds like the bad kind of witch.” Malavai shot back, the smile breaking through to claim his face. He felt nervous and giddy and like he was on the edge of a cliff in a gale.

Ven’fir smiled, and it was everything he’d ever wanted.

“He’s kind of a bastard,” he agreed, teasing. “But he’s not so terrible, really. I was hoping he would be in the market for an assistant.”

Malavai’s breath caught in his throat.

“I- I think that could be arranged.” He all but whispered, blindsided.

Ven’fir could have a job anywhere, doing whatever he wanted. He was handsome, quick, and charming, and Malavai knew he didn’t need for money.

“And,” Ven’fir continued, expression turning sly. “That he might be up for going for coffee? To get to know each other, I mean.”

The butterflies in Malavai’s belly must have been caught in a tornado because he could _feel_ them.

He wanted this.

Ven’fir was giving them both another chance, and he wanted to take it.

He _wanted_ to so badly it hurt.

After all, neither of them were the same people from a few months ago.

Want was a heady thing, and it was filling Malavai from head to toe, consuming him and his doubts.

“I’d like that.” He smiled, shy and hopeful.

Ven’fir grinned and he was a sunrise, warm and bright and new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I got SO into this, it's not even funny. :')


	31. Vampire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hunt is long and bloody, and it's not always glory that waits at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: Period typical homophobia, blood play, vampires being creepy.

The hunter can taste the chill in the air, and it lances his lungs with ice.

His toes are frozen as he picks his way through the long grass, the moonlight illuminating the beads of dew and making them shine. Everything looks like shades of navy and pearl in the darkness, washing out any colour and replacing it with washes of muted dark.

His trousers are soaked through to the knees as he wades through waves of grass, but he refuses to pick up his pace.

His belt is heavy with the tools of his trade, and his heavy coat does its best to ward off the chill of the depths of an English winter.

The trees lining the long driveway are inky and formless in the dark, and he keeps an eye on the line of them as he continues through the field.

The moon hanging in the sky is half full and bright, bathing everything around him in molten silver.

The shriek of a fox makes him twitch as he pads silently on, his hand reaching for the pistol at his hip.

Silver bullets are in one pocket, the other weighed down with regular ammunition. His stake is holstered on his thigh, and his blade hangs at his other hip.

The cross that hangs around his neck doesn’t shine like it should, purposefully worn dull to avoid sharp eyed quarry from spotting the reflection.

The rifle slung over his back is heavy and unwieldy, and the strap digs painfully into his shoulder.

Breath coming in twists of white vapour, he is grateful for his heavy scarf and gloves, even though his fingertips are numb anyway.

The estate around him looks innocuous right now, with sprawling fields and a treeline set far back from the approach. The trees lining the driveway are planted in uniform spaces, old and large enough to form a corridor that herds visitors towards the house.

It's an imposing building, all stately architecture and solid stonework, ivy encroaching over the front.

He approaches quietly, wary.

He's not here for a house call, nor is he foolish enough to announce his presence.

Wrathfield Manor is an old structure, out of the way and spared the ruin of the epidemic of Spanish flu that been ravaging London that last time he had been in the city a few years prior.

With the epidemic over, the country is only just beginning to clean up and move on.

He isn’t here to check on the occupants, however.

No, he's never been the benign kind of visitor, and his messages usually come in the form of a silver bullet between the eyes or a stake to the heart.

He creeps closer, ignoring the call of the fox that seems intent on giving him a heart attack.

The night is clear and cold, frost settling in over the grass even as he disturbs the half-frozen dew.

It’s silent.

He wonders if this was how Karr had approached the house too?

He is missing.

The last they heard, he was on the trail of something, and had stumbled upon records that gave him cause to investigate Wrathfield.

That had been the last anyone in the order had heard of him.

His apprentice is also missing, and he wishes he could be hopeful for finding both.

He scans the house as he gets close.

No lights.

No sound.

Grim, he creeps closer, staying low.

Karr is experienced and tough, and his apprentice is no pushover. The young woman is quick and kind, and he hoped he isn’t about to find her corpse.

Wrathfield looms over him, and he notes the crest set above the heavy doors, carved into the stone.

It’s weathered and only the shape can be identified, but he knows he's in the right place without it.

Wrathfield is the ancestral home of the Polaris family, brought to nobility after the third crusade.

The home isn’t that old of course, but the family is. At least, so the records said.

He can’t see a way in other than the door, and there are high walls stretching off to the side that told him that there would be no convenient back door to slip through.

He pads up to them, heart beating loud enough to hear.

There’s something about this place, about how silent it is and how secluded, that makes him uneasy.

The chapter had poured over the letter that Karr had sent, but without the man and his notes, it was hard to say exactly what he had found.

He ascends the stone steps to the expanse in front of the heavy wooden door. The knocker is an ornate thing, the golden head of some large cat holding a ring in its mouth. The light from the moon makes it look more silver than gold.

Unluckily for the occupants, he isn’t planning on _knocking_.

Large windows, covered with drapes over the inside to keep prying eyes out, are spaced out along the imposing front of the house, and they are a much better entrance than the presumably deadbolted door.

Slipping two pins from a stiff pouch on his belt, he slips the flat of one of them into the crack where window met frame.

It takes far long than he would like, but with a satisfying click, he’s in.

Slipping inside and very carefully pushing the heavy velvet aside, he strains his ears for any kind of noise.

He is in the entrance hall, panelled with wood and showcasing an impressively neat array of artwork.

The floor is tiled with something expensive and a huge, sweeping staircase dominates the room. Doors on their side lead off elsewhere, and he is curious about what lies beyond them.

Artwork lines the walls, and he takes a closer look at a few.

Various images of the family, he assumes by the names stamped into the metal plate that are fixed to the frames, although they seem vastly different in looks to each other. Most families with the kind of pedigree of the Polaris have family trees that fork about as much as a flagpole, and their features show it.

He moves on.

The house is silent but for the rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock to his left, and the air feels heavy, tasting like money and age.

Ignoring the plinths and vases and other display items that seem to proliferate in noble homes, he follows his gut.

The house certainly doesn’t seem like a crumbling ruin, it feels like a home.

It’s clean and tidy if a bit quiet.

It’s almost black inside, and he feels claustrophobic even in the large expanse of the hall. The darkness presses in on his eyes and his nose like black rags, suffocating and making his breathing quicken.

Karr set foot in here mere days ago, and never came out.

The knowledge is enough to keep him on the edge of a knife, his muscles tense and his sense heightened.

He withdraws the pistol from his belt, and the familiar weight of it makes him feel better.

Where to go next?

The doors off to the sides are smaller and no doubt lead to other rooms, but he spotted no lights on in any of the ground floor windows from his approach.

Up, then.

As he makes his way carefully over the tiles, his boots making barely a sound, he notes the wall hangings, threaded with what he assumed to be the Polaris heraldry. It’s useful to know the meanings behind such things, considering how many things that went bump in the night liked to hide behind titles.

The hanging itself was a large, plain affair, the dark fabric highlighting the red shield that was sewn into it, a black band bisecting it.

Gules and a sable _bend sinister_ across it. Hm, an interesting choice. The gules, red, was for a warrior, and the sable, black, was for grief. The specific stripe represented a bastard.

Two crossed swords behind a tiger rampant, clutching a cross in one paw and a heliotrope in the other.

Swords for martial prowess, a tiger for valour and fierceness, and a cross to signify service during the crusades.

The heliotrope for pleasure and eternal devotion is an… interesting choice.

He wonders what it means to those bearing it today.

He turns away, the detailed fangs of the tiger rampant lingering in his mind.

Heading for the huge, sweeping staircase, he ascends, grateful for the plush runner that muffles his footsteps.

A large painting dominates the landing, and he peers at it.

Any clues would be useful, and he’s been a hunter for too long to dismiss _any_ information.

The painting depicts a young man, sitting genteelly on a chair in front of a covered window. It’s clearly a recent painting, as the cut of his suit is fashionable and immaculate, cut close to his body and highlighting the lines of it.

He’s of a darker complexion than the hunter would have thought, his skin a deep bronze that highlights his strange grey eyes. It’s an odd combination, and it gives the young man a piercing look that the hunter doesn’t like. His dark curls brush his shoulders in a style that’s too long to be proper, and his mouth is upturned into a faint smile as he stares at the viewer.

It’s unnerving.

He looks at the plate underneath it, and it reads:

_Lord Ven’fir Polaris, 1913._

The elusive heir to Polaris family.

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time a reclusive noble with strange tastes has had darker secrets than their gambling problems and which maid they’re cheating on their wife with.

With a last glance at the unsettling portrait, he moves on.

He nears the top of the staircase, sparing a look for a few of the paintings that await him.

There's another portrait, this one of a young man in an intricate frock coat and breeches, sitting outside beneath an expansive tree. Strangely, the background isn’t sunny at all. Instead, the day is grim and grey, the young man shadowed.

He looks closer, and something unpleasant curls in his belly.

Dark skin, light eyes, dark curls.

The same slight, sly smile.

He checks the name.

_Ven’fir Polaris, 1731_

Perhaps an ancestor with a popular family name?

Some noble families have given names that stay in the family, popping up over and over, especially if someone notable further back had owned it and parents wished to capitalise on that.

He isn’t sure that is the case here.

As he draws his eyes from the painting, he hears something.

He freezes, dropping low as his honed instincts tell him to bring up his gun.

He stays still, perfectly tense and ready to move in an instant, but the noise isn’t getting closer.

It’s the faintest sound of someone singing, and it’s so muffled that it must be quite far away.

He swallows painfully, heart thudding against his chest.

The singer is a woman, and her voice has the kind of cadence that makes it feel like she’s not singing for an audience.

Well, he knows where he’s heading, now.

He creeps up the stairs, watching every corner and every window.

The feeling of wrongness is getting stronger, and it makes his breath come short and his head swim.

The singing is a strange contrast to the silence of the rest of the house, and he feels somewhat like he’s trapped in a dream. Or, perhaps, a nightmare.

He can hear some words now, and they make his lungs spasm and his belly churn.

_“If you want to find the general_

_I know where he is_

_I know where he is_

_I know where he is_

_If you want to find the general_

_I know where he is_

_He's pinning another medal on his chest-“_

He continues, feeling his pulse race as the moonlight streams through the windows and throws decorations into sharp relief, causing their shapes to appear distorted and unnatural.

More paintings, all of individuals bearing the Polaris name. All are markedly different from one another, as though none of them were related at all.

He reaches another hallway and turns down it, spotting a dull gleam of light from the far end.

The singing is louder now.

_“If you want to find the colonel_

_I know where he is_

_He's sitting in comfort stuffing his bloody gut_

_I saw him, I saw him_

_Sitting in comfort stuffing his bloody gut-“_

He is close.

He withdraws his stake from the holster on his hip, gripping it so tightly his fingers ache.

He creeps on, guided by the sound of the woman’s voice.

The light is streaming from a door that’s been left ajar, and the sound of clear as a bell.

_“If you want to find the sergeant_

_I know where he is_

_I know where he is_

_I know where he is_

_If you want to find the sergeant_

_I know where he is_

_He's drinking all the company rum_

_I saw him, I saw him_

_Drinking all the company rum_

_Drinking all the company rum-“_

He knows that song.

It’s been only a few years since he came back from France, but he remembers the song.

How would a woman know it, and why would she sing such a thing?

Perhaps she had been a nurse, scrabbling in the mud with the rest of them.

He holds his breath as he peeks in, his eyes catching how the light flickers when someone moves in front of it.

He catches a glimpse of the woman as she dances in front of the lamp that illuminates the bedroom she’s dancing in, her skirts fanning out as she twirls.

His mouth goes dry and his eyes are as wide as they’ll go, but _he_ _knows her face._

Jaesa Wilsaam is smiling to herself as she sings, dancing alone in a bedroom of his strange house.

He wants to go to her, to drag her out and back to the chapter so she can tell them where Karr is, but something stops him.

She doesn’t seem like a prisoner.

She doesn’t seem like she’s hurt.

Something awful squirms in his gut as she sings.

_“If you want to find the private_

_I know where he is_

_I know where he is_

_I know where he is_

_If you want to find the private_

_I know where he is_

_He's hanging on the old barbed wire_

_I saw him, I saw him_

_Hanging on the old barbed wire_

_Hanging on the old barbed wire.”_

He moves to get a closer look, and the door is lighter than he realises.

It creaks ever so slightly as it moves a fraction on an inch, and she stops her dancing, falling deathly still.

He can’t move.

Terror grips him, and he is screaming at his body to respond.

Back away slowly, he orders his limbs.

Quiet and quick.

He can’t.

He hears the floorboards creak as she approaches the door.

She’s silent, until she starts singing again. It’s slower now, her voice no longer light and laughing.

Instead it’s low and there’s something in it that makes him want to run.

_“If you want to find the private_

_I know where he is_

_I know where he is_

_I know where he is,”_ She chants slowly, getting closer.

Perhaps she won’t see him.

It’s dark and the door is mostly closed anyway.

 _Please_ don’t let her see-

Her footsteps stop, and for a second, there’s only heavy, crushing silence.

Then, a hand curls around the door and begins to open it.

His heart is thudding in his ears, and he abandons all thoughts of quiet and stillness. He scrambles back, barely keeping his footing.

Her face appears in the gap of the door and jamb, and he lets out a sob as she _stares_.

Her mouth opens and this time thew words aren’t sung at all but spoken in a dead, low tone.

“If you want to find the private,

I know where he is.”

Her lips pull back into a snarl and he sees her _teeth_.

He fumbles for the stake in his hands and must throw himself out of the way as she flies at him, her snapping teeth inches from his face.

Her brown eyes are wide and furious, and she’s far stronger than she should be. Her fingers are elongated into awful claws, and she hisses when he lands a blow.

“Get out!” she snaps, “You can’t have me! I won’t go back!”

Fighting for his life, he lands a headbutt to her nose and hears a satisfying crunch, sending her reeling back.

He aims the stake at her heart, and she’s too slow to move. It hits her dead on and sinks into her flesh, and her face contorts as her body freezes and goes stiff.

A stake to the heart can paralyse any vampire, although it won’t kill them.

He pants, hands shaking and back pressed against the wall where he tries to get a hold on his breathing.

He can’t take his eyes off her frozen body, stuck in time with the stake sticking out of her chest.

Slowly, he gets up, refusing to look away.

She’s _turned_.

She’s fresh too, only a few days old he thinks, judging by how sloppy she was.

It tugs at his heart, and he mutters a prayer for her.

He’ll leave her there, perhaps they can pick her up for the chapter to study, later.

He warily sidesteps her, and heads into her room, adrenaline making his hands shake.

It’s a bare thing, but already there are charcoal drawings scattered on every surface.

He looks closer.

One shows a young man, and the likeness to the portrait in the entrance hall is uncanny.

Ven’fir Polaris.

Another shows him sitting with another man, this one in the white coat of a doctor, smiling as he tends to him.

He goes through a few drawings of flowers and one of the house before he spots something new.

A detailed sketch, and he recognises this one.

Nomen Karr.

His face is slack, his eyes are blankly staring at a point away from the viewer, and his throat has been ripped open. A splash of crimson paint runs down the page, dried and dark. There are more sketches in the same vein, all images of Karr dead and torn apart.

Some unnameable feeling curls in his gut and he pockets the scraps of paper.

The drawings are incredibly detailed.

He checks the desk and, to his mounting horror, finds a little leather-bound journal. He knows that book. It’s Karr’s notes.

He glances back to where Jaesa is laying, and ice drips down his spine.

It’s getting less and less likely that Nomen Karr is still alive.

Pocketing the little book, he casts his eyes around for anything else.

The rest of the room is bare, so he gingerly steps out again, avoiding getting too close to the paralysed vampire.

She can’t move. She _can’t._

He steps around her.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers to her prone form as he keeps back, “I'll be back for you.”

He's gripping his gun so tightly the metal digs into his hands, and the revolver seems impossibly heavy.

On edge, he heads further down the hallway.

Jaesa Wilsaam isn’t alone here.

He needs to find the rest of what he now realises could be a _nest_ of vampires.

Perhaps a small nest, considering the secluded nature of Wrathfield means that a larger population wouldn’t be able to sustain itself.

He clenches his jaw, moving further into the house.

The heavy silence feels more oppressive now he knows what he's walking into.

If his hunch is correct, Ven’fir Polaris has been Lord of Wrathfield for an awfully long time, perhaps since the name first cropped up.

Struck by a thought, he quickly withdraws the small, bound notebook from his pocket, noting the ‘N. KARR’ embossed onto the back.

Flicking through the pages and pages of notes, he skipped to the back.

After a few moments of reading, he comes across an entry from a week ago.

> _1st November 1922_
> 
> _I have searched the records and I know I've caught the beast. Manuscripts from the original bequeathment of the Barony tell of the Polaris family service in the third crusade, whereupon Sir Polaris and his wife journeyed to the Holy Land to fight and make pilgrimage. They arrived alone but returned to England with a child._
> 
> _If my theory is correct, the beast that resides in Wrathfield is an old one indeed._
> 
> _It does not matter how old the leech is, I will make short work of it, providing my idiot apprentice does not get in my way. The girl is adequate, but she is a woman and therefore weaker than I would like. Still, she has the mettle she picked up wearing the red cross in the mud of France, at least._
> 
> _The leech must be a shrewd beast since there have been no obvious patterns of disappearances in the area. Still, nothing can escape my critical eye. Old stories told by locals in the villages tell of the road between them being perilous to travel, and some nonsense about fairies and wolves. It's superstition, but if the leech of Wrathfield is as old as I believe him to be, that superstition may have grounds in truth._
> 
> _They told me a rhyme of a plague doctor taking rest there and going missing._
> 
> _Doctor, doctor,_
> 
> _Dark and dead,_
> 
> _Show us your mask,_
> 
> _Show your cloak, your herbs, your flask._
> 
> _Doctor, doctor,_
> 
> _Weary from the road,_
> 
> _Beak heavy and bag light,_
> 
> _You asked at the house to stay for a night._
> 
> _Doctor, doctor,_
> 
> _He let you in and took your coat,_
> 
> _You lay down your head with no shadow of doubt,_
> 
> _But come morning, you never came out._
> 
> _A foolish, childish rhyme to be sure, but one that has lingered this long likely has some vague basis in fact._
> 
> _I will make my plans in the morning and then, by cover of night to avoid any traps set by the sleeping beast, I shall take his head and scatter him on the wind._

It was the last entry, and the hunter felt something icy and wriggling creep down his spine.

A vampire as old as Karr seemed to believe this one was would have been immensely powerful, not to mention sly.

He stows the little journal back in his pocket and sets his jaw.

It's too late to head back now, and he should be able to handle a single vampire, especially since he's kept his entrance a secret so far.

He keeps telling himself that.

He pads on, heading further in.

More paintings line the walls, and he passes through a set of large, open wooden doors into a small gallery, more doors at the other end.

Large windows are covered with velvet and give the room a heavy edge, absorbing sound and leaving his ears ringing with the silence.

A painting halfway down is in a more ornate frame than the others, and he pauses to look at it.

It depicts a stern looking man standing outside under a tree, Wrathfield House looming solemnly in the background, a little different to how it looks now.

The man is pale and dark haired, swathed in the heavy cloak of a plague doctor. His high collar and dark gloves give him a grim air, and he holds his wide brimmed hat and sinister, hooked beak mask in his hands as he stares at the viewer. His hair is shot with silver at the temples, and there’s a beauty mark on one cheekbone. His eyes are a striking shade of dark blue, and the scenery around him is wintery and washed out, making his haughty, cold stare fit with the atmosphere.

The hunter glances at the plaque.

_The Plague Doctor, 1791._

Painted in 1791?

A commission and not a live portrait then, but clearly an awfully specific one.

His mind drifts back to the local rhyme recorded in Karr's notes, and he suppresses a shiver.

He moves on, sparing a glance for tapestries, portraits, and landscapes from every past age.

One portrait is tucked away between two swooping landscapes, and he's drawn to it because it shows more than one person.

The portraits seem oddly dominated by single figures, rarely is there more than two. This one seems the same, except when he looks closer, he can see that he's mistaken.

A man in armour stands resplendent in front of a window in a grand stone room, sunlight streaming through to play off his immaculate armour. A sword is at his hip and a helm is under his arm, and his bearing is noble and dignified. His eyes give his face a kindly, patrician look, and his holds himself surely, his tabard bright and proud.

The woman seated next to him is swathed in a gown, the style from ages past. Her expression is intense and hawkish, her fair features painted hard and unyielding. The paint is cracked and aged on the canvas.

In her arms is a baby, swaddled tightly. Both the adults are of pale complexion, but the child in their arms does not match them.

He takes a closer look at the plaque, noting how it looks far more recent than the frame or painting. The painting is old, but the plaque looks new, and he spies another one underneath it. Someone has added their own version on top of the original.

_Sir Aimery Polaris and his Lady Idonea, and the theft of Isma’il ibn Sufyan al-Karak, 1587._

He breathes out slowly, his mind whirling.

No.

This does not matter.

He needs to keep going.

He heads for the large doors at the end of the gallery, gaping open like a maw.

Beyond them is a staircase, heavy and solid. He climbs it, going slowly to avoid sounds, and feels the weight of the dark and silence on him, as though he is at the bottom of an inky lake.

There’s the faintest hint of light at the top, and he feels dread settle like a lead weight in his belly.

He’s a hunter.

He’s served on the Front; he’s survived the fields of France and the monsters the rest of the world would prefer to remain ignorant of.

He will do what Nomen Karr could not.

He keeps his steps steady, feeling the cool grain of the wood under his gloved fingertips, and the way the hard edges of his gun bite against his palms through.

He arrives at a landing, large windows covered with yet move velvet, a few shafts of moonlight spilling through the heavy folds like silver lances.

He hears the faintest sound of movement ahead, muffled, and quiet.

It sounds like someone moving about in a room, perhaps the rusting of fabric or the creak of wood.

The landing has a small door at one end and a larger, more ornate one at the other.

Heading for the ornate on, where the faintest hint of light could be seen, he pushes it open and finds himself in a short corridor.

This one is illuminated more strongly from the light spilling from under the door at the end, and he swears he can hear the low murmur of a voice coming from it.

He feels cold, and like a thousand insects are crawling under his skin, their little legs prickling the inside of his veins.

His heartbeat pounds in his ears like a drumbeat, making the sounds he’s trying to listen to fade in and out as they’re dampened by his rushing blood.

He has no stake, and he’s alone.

He wonders if this was how Karr felt when he found this place, and if Jaesa had been with him when she was turned.

He doesn’t think Karr is alive.

Not now.

Now in this place.

It’s so aggressively normal, but there are things out of place. The strange paintings, the suffocating silence, the sense of chill foreboding and the _knowledge_ of exactly what hides here.

What has been hiding in the shadows for _centuries_.

He grips his gun and lays a hand on his blade, reassuring himself of its presence.

He pads closer, and his well-trained ears pick up the muffled sound of a pained gasp.

He surges forward, keeping as quiet as he can, his body flooding with adrenaline.

The door is ever so slightly ajar.

His breath coming short in shallow draws and his eyes wide enough to ache, he gingerly presses his face close enough to see through the gap.

The first thing that his mind makes sense of is _blood_.

It’s splattered over the crisp bedsheets, and droplets have landed on the floor, congealing into splotches of dark brown.

The lights in the room are low, only one lamp that he can see illuminated. It gives the rooms a warm, intimate air, casting yellow light onto the panelled walls and wooden furniture.

He can see a flash of a hand with deep bronze skin that’s smeared with crimson, and in a horrible second, he realises that the vampire is _draining_ someone.

Without thinking he shifts, and the door moves a tiny fraction, but it’s enough for him to see further into the room.

It’s the moment of pause that stops him from bursting into the room, gun in hand a prayer on his tongue.

The vampire is holding someone in his arms as he feeds, a tangle of snow pale limbs that are daubed with blood.

For a second the scene doesn’t make sense in his head, before he recoils in horror.

The two men are locked in a passionate embrace, both naked and moving against each other in a filthy, languid roll of their hips.

The paler man is straddling the vampire, legs spread obscenely wide as he tilts his neck to the side to allow the beast to sink it’s teeth into his throat.

Blood is spilled around them, coating their skin and the sheets around them, and he dimly notes a wine bottle and accompanying pair of glasses that hold a liquid far too thick to be wine.

The sounds they make are obscene and he feels sick to his stomach when the paler lover moans, his hands coming to clutch at his lovers back.

The vampire drinks greedily and with abandon, fucking into his lover as he drains him.

The other moves with tired, desperate, shameless need, and the hunter feels revulsion settle in his gut even as his cheeks flush with fire.

The vampire pulls back from his lovers throat and licks the punctures clean, savouring the scarlet that trickles from the wounds.

His face is the same as the portraits, down to the sly grin and unnerving eyes. His teeth are ghastly, a set of slender fangs that replace his canines, a smaller duo behind them, and another lesser set on the bottom making his blood slick mouth into a horror show.

The hunter has seen vampires before, but not like _this_. He’s seen them in battle, spitting rage and clawing at his comrades and calling blood to their aid in sickening displays of foul magic. That, at least, is familiar.

The vampire, dark curls a mess and his skin shining with blood, runs his hands over his lovers skin, and the paler man moves to right himself now that there are no longer fangs in his neck.

He’s deathly pale and his dark hair is shot with silver, and when he opens his eyes the hunter is struck by the distinct shade of deep blue. A beauty mark sits on one cheekbone, and he tries to recall why that’s so immediately familiar when the man opens his mouth and drags his tongue over the smear of blood on the vampire’s collarbone.

He’s licking the blood up like he’s a cat that’s got into the cream, relishing every drop as he laves his tongue over the skin.

He drags himself up, running his tongue over his teeth as he smiles, displaying the same monstrous teeth as the other man.

The hunter can’t move.

He’s frozen still, and all he can hear is the thundering blood in his ears.

This wasn’t a _victim_ ; this was a _fellow monster_.

They kiss, blood on their mouths and hands as they move together, eyes closed in collective, obscene bliss. Their fingertips are clawed and gouge scores into each other’s skin, adding to the sanguine mess they’re both revelling in.

Foul magic hangs in the air as they two vampires indulge in each other, the blood reacting to the unholy powers of the two beasts in the bed. The pale man smiles, looking out at his lover from under his lashes, and gives him a hard shove, sending the other back onto the bed on his back with a snarl and flash of his fangs. The aggression doesn’t seem to put them off, and the pale man drags himself up the others body and kisses him hard, a trickle of blood running from where their mouths are joined as he rolls his hips.

They’ve moving against each other faster now, the languid nature of their earlier coupling giving way to harsh, frantic movements and snapping teeth, claws digging into flesh and panted, guttural snarling curses that the hunter can’t make out.

He knows, suddenly, where he’s seen the other vampire.

The eyes and the mark on his cheek are identical to the portrait of the plague doctor he’d seen earlier, and he’s struck by what that _means_.

A heliotrope for pleasure and eternal devotion.

A story of a doctor taking refuge and never coming out.

A portrait of the man hung pride of place and kept perfect.

Paralysed with terror, he’s sees the two curl up with each other, sharing soft kisses now their need is sated, and their bodies spent. They smile like they’re paramours, sweet and affectionate now, and they brush hair from the others brow as they press close.

He’s never seen leeches act so… _human_.

Lord Polaris grins, showing his teeth, and leans in to lick a smear of blood from his lovers cheek. The other man gives a quiet laugh and kisses him, savouring the blood on their tongues.

They look like a nightmare with the teeth and the claws and the blood they’re covered in, and it’s incongruous with how affectionate they with each other, despite them being both men and monsters.

It’s obscene and ungodly, and to draw his eyes away, his gaze lands on the wine bottle and glasses.

That’s _blood_.

It looks fresh too, only a few shades darker than when it’s just spilled.

They’re out of the way here, so how did they get so much fresh blood that they can bottle it?

A horrible feeling settles over his belly, and a chill shiver crawls with rotten fingers up his spine.

Unless the source was close by.

Suddenly, he feels like he knows what happened to Nomen Karr.

The repulsion makes him twitch and he hears his boot make a noise against the floorboards, and fear blooms in his lungs like he’s breathed in mustard gas.

The two monsters in the bed are still and straining their ears, expressions bestial as they draw away from one another.

The pale man’s teeth are bared and his eyes search for the origin of the noise, and he moves off Polaris as the other man moves to slip nimbly off the bed, his nose flaring as he scents the air. A low growl emanates from his chest, and he flexes his fingers, nails elongating back into long, unnatural talons.

Still naked, he takes another step, his skin filthy with blood, marred with rapidly healing gashes and bites.

The pale man pulls on some breeches, and he looks ready to spring at the first thing to make a noise.

Polaris scents the air again, and his unnaturally pale eyes fix on the door.

The door the hunter is frozen behind.

Fear clouds his mind and makes him shake, and then it’s as if his body doesn’t belong to him anymore.

With a cry, he stumbles back his limbs are aching with his tense he’s keeping them. He feels his gun fall from his fingers, and suddenly he’s running, feet slapping against the floorboard and heedless of the noise he’s making.

Blind, all-consuming terror fills his mind, and all he can do is _get away._

The house, once so silent and horrifyingly claustrophobic, is now filled with the sounds of his fright, his heavy breathing and terrified sobs, and the sounds of his fleeing footsteps.

He hears a laugh behind him as he tears down the corridor, expecting at any moment to feel fangs at his neck or claws raking over his back. He prays in a jumble of words, desperate and frenzied.

“Malavai, dear?” He heard a filthy purr sound out as he reaches halfway, “Bring me a present?”

There’s the sound of a little chuckle, and he’s almost at the door to the landing.

“Anything for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants to know the background to Ven here, his parents took pilgrimage during the third crusade, and as Lady Polaris couldn't bear children, they took a local child instead. Bringing him back to their home, they raised him as they own after being granted a Barony for their service during the crusade. 
> 
> Always being different from the rest of high society, Ven'fir eventually made the choice to travel back to the place of his birth under the guise of a pilgrimage. While there, he found himself on the wrong end of a monster, and was turned. Eventually he made his way back to the isles after several years, he found his adoptive father dead and his mother even more bitter and dismissive than ever. After months of hiding his condition and trying not to give into the hunger, he snapped when his mother arranged for an exorcism. He killed the priests and his mother, draining their corpses and burning their bodies. Many years later he purchased Wrathfield and became known as a recluse, albeit a friendly one, welcoming travelers and being sometimes seen in the neighboring villages after dark. He took great pains to hide his secret, taking on various identities over the years. He formed a coven with some of the people he turned, and still regularly keeps in contact with them after they leave to live out their own unlives.
> 
> One day, during the epidemic of the Black Death, a plague doctor came to the area to treat affected villages and goes to Wrathfield to seek refuge for a night. That doctor was Malavai, and the two became friends. Malavai ended up staying with him and Ven'fir turned him after a slip of control. Malavai hated him for a while, but after many years they reconciled and became lovers. They stayed in Wrathfield, using different identities and collecting new 'family members', killing any hunters that somehow ended up on their trail. Nomen Karr and Jaesa Wilsaam were the latest hunters to piece it together and find them. They took Jaesa and Karr, and Jaesa took their offer to be turned and join their family. They drained Karr and bottled him, and then the events of this chapter happen.
> 
> Fun facts: Isma’il ibn Sufyan al-Karak is Ven's birth name here, and without going too much into a breakdown of all the parts of the name, it roughly anglicises to Ishmael son of Sufyan, of Karak. Al-Karak is a city in Jordan that houses Kerak castle, a fortress from the crusades. I've been there and loved my time there, so I used it here. I hope I've got my Arabic naming conventions correct, as it's been a long time since I've been in the Middle East and needed to use them! 
> 
> :)
> 
> Post WW1 setting and some small pieces of lore are a nod to Vampyr, one of my favourite games. ^_^


	32. Western

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malavai is a lawyer, and Ven’fir is the outlaw that barges into his hotel room while on the run.

The first hint that something was wrong was the commotion from outside, but it was so common to hear _something_ going on that Malavai didn’t really register it.

The hotel he was in fronted onto the main street, a dusty line of facades and one colourful signs turned to the same drab colour of greyish brown. The noise of the town going about it’s business was a constant background drone and sounded just like every other town Malavai had ridden through. It was, frankly, utterly boring and not worth paying special attention to.

What he _did_ register however, was the door to his room being thrown open and a figure darting inside, closing it quickly and catching their breath against it.

Malavai stared, his fingers paused halfway through tying his necktie, his hair still damp from his bath.

The man stared back.

A beat of silence, before he grinned.

He was tall and solid looking under his dark clothes, and Malavai was struck by his dedication to the colour black.

His hands were bound in heavy metal cuffs, and he was panting, his skin damp and his dark curls wild.

With a wicked smile, he brought a finger up to his lips in a gesture to keep quiet, grey eyes sparkling.

Malavai sighed, finished tying his necktie with mathematical precision, and folded his arms.

He raised an eyebrow, hoping to convey his supreme irritation with his gaze alone.

The man looked amused and mouthed ‘please?’ with accompanying puppy eyes.

The moment he took his eyes off Malavai to peep through the keyhole, Malavai shifted enough to be within reaching distance of the nightstand that held his revolver. It was a heavy thing, a necessity when travelling through the frontier. Malavai was a crack shot and wasn’t afraid to show it.

He grabbed it and his sudden movement caught the attention of his uninvited guest, who suddenly looked a lot less amused now he was staring down the barrel of a gun.

The voices and shouting had died down outside, fading away as the people moved away.

“Who are you?” Malavai demanded, and his guest tried for a charming smile.

The smile worked, but the charm fell a little flat with how his hands were in cuffs and he was still catching his breath.

“Ahh, well. I must first apologise for barging in uninvited,” the man began, lifting his bound hands in a gesture of hopeful supplication. “But as you can see, I’m in a bit of a tight spot.”

Malavai cocked the gun, deliberately slow and obvious.

“Your _name_.” He demanded again, deadly serious.

The man looked at the gun warily.

“Ven.” He said quickly, “You're a tough bastard, aren’t you?”

Malavai just looked at him.

“Alright _Ven,_ ” he continued, “Give me one reason I shouldn’t just march you back to whoever is looking for you?”

Ven gave a bright grin.

“Because they won’t reward you for finding me,” he said with confidence. “They'll cart me off, I’ll escape again, and you'll be left with nothing but an interesting anecdote.”

Well, it couldn’t be said that he wasn’t bold.

Malavai raised an eyebrow, and Ven faltered a little, shoring up his hopeful look with a smile that showed dimples on his cheeks.

“I need _help_.” He murmured, “You wouldn’t turn down a guy needing your help, would you?”

“I'm a lawyer, sir.” Malavai said dryly, “I am, by profession, a heartless bastard.”

That startled a laugh out of Ven, who inched forwards a little, away from the door.

Malavai kept the gun on him.

“If I help you, a presumed criminal, what do I get out of it?” He asked, tilting his head.

Ven’s thoughts flickered across his face faster than Malavai could decipher them.

“I’ve got money,” The other man assured. “But I assume you want something a little more immediate...”

He looked Malavai up and down, and a sly grin spread over his face.

“You can have me.”

Malavai stared.

Well, he hadn’t expected _that_.

Such things were not legal, and certainly not spoken about in polite company.

Still, it wasn’t something unheard of and... well, it was something Malavai hadn’t indulged in for an exceedingly long time, not since he hadn’t had a career to ruin.

Assuming that's what Ven meant, anyway.

Casting a subtle, critical eye over him, Malavai drank him in.

He was tall and solid under those dark clothes, broad shoulders leading to a swell of strong arms and then his bound hands.

Mm, thighs.

He felt his face turning crimson and cursed his fair skin.

Ven was a handsome man, that was true. He had nice features, a full mouth curved into an inviting grin, a strong nose that gave his face a sharp look, and sly, smiling eyes. A strong jaw lent his face a rugged charm. Wild black curls gave him a boyish, playful look, even as he brushed them from his eyes.

He was clean shaven, and his complexion was a dark bronze, shining with the heat of the sun outside. There was a flush of sunburn over his cheeks, and a long-healed scar over his nose.

He was looking at Malavai in a way that didn’t leave his meaning to the imagination, and it was a heady stare.

It was very tempting if he was honest, which wasn’t often.

“A thrill with a strange man is worth execution?” he asked dryly, ignoring the heat in his cheeks.

Ven laughed, a low chuckle.

“Darling, of all the things I could be executed for, I’d regret this one the least.” He winked, and sauntered closer, the manacles around his wrists making a metallic clink as he moved.

He grinned, eyes dark and playful.

He was so close that the barrel of Malavai's gun was only a few inches from his forehead.

The shirt he wore was as black as the rest of his clothes, and he looked like he spent money on his appearance. The shirt was fitted close to his body, taut over his shoulders and his chest. A neckerchief was tied around his neck, loose and just as black as everything else.

He was rumpled and a little worse for wear, and there were two empty holsters at his hips, an ammunition belt holding them fast. A brace for a hunting knife was at his thigh, empty of the blade it was made for.

Malavai was tired from a long ride, bored of the heat and the dust, and... well, the kind of dry spell he was in could put Arizona to shame.

He narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t turn you in and, what, you give me a kiss?” he mocked. “You'll only knock me out and take my gun.”

To his surprise, Ven did not seem offended.

“Not just a kiss. Keep the gun on me, then.” Ven offered, voice smoky. “I don’t mind.”

He breathed in, rolling his shoulders.

“Honestly, I’d want to do this even without the favour,” he admitted shamelessly, “You're a handsome thing, and you’ve got a sharp tongue. I like that.”

Malavai considered him.

He was only passing through this little town, and who would know? Even if Ven decided to tell someone and a posse came to see him hang, he would be long gone.

Ven looked at him with a grin, his look steady and warm.

“Before we continue,” Malavai murmured, “Who exactly are you running from? What did you do?”

Ven chuckled, his posture open as he shifted his weight.

“If I said I was an infamous yet mysterious outlaw, would that make you swoon?” he asked cheekily, startling a laugh out of Malavai.

“Not really,” he admitted, amused. “It sounds like someone who is trying too hard to impress me. That means he’s hiding something.”

Ven shrugged.

“Then I’m not an infamous and mysterious outlaw.” He said with a grin. “Just a guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Malavai didn’t buy that for a second.

“Did a mask and a gun fall on you during a robbery?” Malavai asked pointedly, “Perhaps you tripped, and some valuables fell into your pockets?”

The smile Ven gave him was sly.

“Something like that,” he agreed. “Now, can I get my mouth on you?”

Malavai flushed.

“The cuffs stay on,” he said firmly, and he carefully placed the gun back on the bedside table, making sure it was within reach.

Ven’fir gave a low chuckle.

“I can’t get them off anyway,” he admitted. “I didn’t get a chance to swipe the key.”

He stepped closer, and Malavai could see how the scar that cross his nose bisected one eyebrow, and how one of his canine teeth was chipped. The imperfections made him nicer to look at, somehow.

He pressed close, manacles clinking, and his eyes dropped to Malavai’s mouth.

Malavai felt paralysed and heat was blooming in his belly, making his spine tingle and his skin hypersensitive.

Ven brought his hands up, still bound, and laid them carefully against Malavai’s chest, gently pushing him until his back was to the wall.

With a last flash of a grin, he leaned in and pressed his mouth to Malavai’s.

Malavai would have liked to say that he didn’t melt against the other man like a maiden from a penny dreadful, but he wasn’t sure how else to describe how he dove into the kiss.

He pressed close, relishing the feeling of Ven’s body against his, the heat from him seeping through their clothes.

His kiss was firm and languid, and he tasted like whiskey.

Oh, he was so _warm_.

Malavai wasn’t sure he would ever get used to the heat and the dust that was a world away from the grey drizzle of the isles, but this was worth the long ride.

He kissed back with enthusiasm, relishing every moment, and committing it to memory.

Ven was taller than he was by a few inches, and much broader. His hands left pools of heat where they were pressed against Malavai’s chest, and he felt his legs go weak as they deepened the kiss to something more needy.

Eventually they pulled back, and Ven stayed close enough that Malavai could see how hazy his eyes were, and how his skin was flushed. His mouth was slick, and he seemed reluctant to move.

Malavai couldn’t stop staring at him.

He gave a little grin, before backing up a tiny amount.

Malavai was about to protest, but Ven just locked eye with him, and dropped to his knees.

He looked up through dark eyelashes, his knees apart and his manacled hands in front of him, smiling like he knew exactly how sinful he looked.

“I told you it wouldn’t just be a kiss,” he assured, voice gravelly with want. “C’mon, I want to make you _beg_ me to keep going.”

Oh. That was a forceful thing to say. Malavai’s insides squirmed and a shiver ran down his spine. He swallowed painfully as Ven seemed to get impatient and moved forwards to press a closed mouth kiss to the fabric in front of him, his eyes wicked.

“I’ll undo these buttons with my teeth if I have to,” he warned, teasing. “But it would be quicker if you helped me out.”

That playful, sly, _smug_ smile was really something.

Malavai moved to brush his fingertips over Ven's face before winding into the mop of wild curls and tightening his hold.

Ven’s eyes widened a little before his grin turned wicked and he shivered, looking up at Malavai through his lashes.

“Mm, not usually my scene, but for you... well, I'll make a very pleasurable exception.”

Malavai shifted his grip on his hair and Ven sighed, leaning into it.

“This way, you'll have less chance to overpower me and take my gun.” Malavai assured him, amused.

Ven chuckled, pressing close enough that his nose brushed fabric.

“As if I would cut this short,” he breathed, eyes amused but tone serious. “Now, get your fucking pants off.”

Malavai flushed and tightened his grip.

* * *

Malavai stared at the ceiling, ruminating on the grains in the wood and not much else.

He was catching his breath, pulling in air, and feeling his faculties come back to him. His skin felt hot and damp, and the shirt that had once started perfectly buttoned was now tangled around his shoulders, not a button tied.

Beside him, Ven was having his own moment, eyes closed and chest heaving. He was still shackled, but that seemed to be the furthest thing from his mind as he absently blew a breath from pursed lips.

They were quiet as they collected themselves, brains blinking into sense like a slow telegram.

Ven turned to him and shot him a cheeky grin.

“Well, _you’re_ a ton of fun.” He teased, pleased as punch.

Malavai wasn’t sure his cheeks could get a deeper crimson, but they made a valiant effort.

“I could say the same about you.” He replied tiredly, feeling his skin start to cool.

Ven sighed, stretching. His back popped and he groaned.

“I wish we’d had more time,” he muttered, “And some oil. I’d fuck you so hard the only thing going through your head would be my name.”

Malavai stared at him, belly squirming and trying hard not to think too hard about that. He failed.

Mm, that would be something to think about later. In _detail_.

Malavai shifted and sat up, wrinkling his nose at the state he was in.

“I took a bath earlier,” he grumbled, but Ven just laughed.

“If the water’s still warm, I’m not opposed to a little scrub down.” He smirked, and Malavai just gave him a look, awkwardly buttoning his pants again.

“If we do that, we’ll never leave.” Malavai, sort of wishing they had more time. Oh, he didn’t trust Ven at all, he didn’t know the man and Malavai was a suspicious sort by nature, but he hadn’t felt so physically relaxed in a long time.

The metal bath was hidden behind a small, battered wooden screen. The bucket that the girl had used to fill it was empty in the corner. The water was long past warm, but it was enough to clean himself up with. He listened for Ven sneaking out, but the other man didn’t seem inclined to leave just yet, which was strange. He was out of Malavai’s sight other than where he could peek through the gaps in the slats and could abscond whenever he wanted.

Perhaps he wanted to use the bath too.

Malavai had left him in quite the state after he’d insisted on reciprocating, ending up with his hand down the other man’s pants and listening to him gasp as he lavished attention on his neck.

He emerged, a little more put together than the state he’d been in before, and Ven grinned at him. He was _almost_ completely dressed, but he didn’t bother to protect his modesty as he headed for the bath with a swagger, giving Malavai a wink.

The sounds of Ven availing himself of the water sounding in his ears, Malavai set about making the bed and pretending the poor rickety thing hadn’t just had two grown men furiously tussling on it.

So fuzzy headed and filled with afterglow was he that he didn’t hear footsteps at his door.

What he did hear, however, was the _knock_.

He froze.

From the way the sounds of washing had also stopped, he assumed Ven had frozen too.

Nerves gathering in his belly, he grabbed the gun from the table and shoved it in his belt, his holster laying on one of the chairs, having been removed for his first bath.

He checked his appearance to make sure it wasn’t obvious he had been up to illicit activities, and opened the door, hoping Ven would have the good sense to stay still and quiet.

The men at his door were a rough looking sort, but they bore deputies stars and scowls.

“Gentlemen,” he greeted, and he saw some of those scowls deepen at his accent. “Can I help you?”

“We’re looking for a man,” one began, his impressive moustache moving as he spoke. “A fugitive. Man by the name of Ven’fir Polaris.”

Noting the full name, Malavai met the man’s eyes even as he produced a horribly rendered sketch of Ven. Someone had given him a scowl and cross eyes, as well as a huge nose and several more scars than he really had.

“I’ve not heard of him.”

The man narrowed his eyes.

“You not from around here, then?” he asked gruffly, “That there criminal has been a plague on Mr Baras enterprises for years. We caught him and his crew in the middle of robbing Mr Baras cargo from a coach.”

“Fascinating.” Malavai murmured, not bothering to hide his flat tone. “I arrived yesterday and I’m leaving tomorrow, so I’ve not met anyone introducing themselves by that name, sirs.”

The deputy narrowed his eyes.

“Well, that’s the thing,” he began slowly, “He ran off this morning. Knocked out Henry and made a break for it. Folk saw him run into this hotel, but no one seen him come out again.”

Malavai raised an eyebrow.

“There’s plenty of windows here, sirs.” He pointed out, and the man grunted in reluctant agreement.

“I’m sure you’ll catch such a despicable character,” he said earnestly, “He sounds like an irredeemable rogue.”

The man nodded, pleased Malavai agreed with him.

“He is.” He assured. “He’s the worst kind. He makes civilised folk like us look bad, carrying on like he does. He’ll hang, no doubt about it. Robbery is the least of his crimes, what with how the rumours say he’s a uh… that he likes the company of men, if you know what I mean.”

Malavai’s other eyebrow joined the first, the man’s tone dropping low as if merely talking about the subject was going to make him feel sick. Clearly, this man was a terrible gossip to even mention such a thing.

“Well, such a dangerous, indecent, obscene excuse for a man should be locked up,” he said with a small smile, belly twisting. “I’ve had a long ride and I should rest. If I see such a man, I’ll immediately report him to you gentlemen.”

The deputy, shoulders relaxing as Malavai laid on the compliance, nodded as he hid a small smile under his moustache.

“Thank you kindly, sir.” He said with a tip of his hat, “We’ll be knocking on doors for a while yet, so if you spot anything then come and find us.”

“Of course.”

Keeping up his thin smile as the men left, he closed the door and turned the key in the lock before breathing out a low, low breath.

His stomach fluttered and he could hear his pulse in his ears.

“They’re gone,” he murmured, and spotted Ven poking his head out cautiously from behind the wooden partition.

The other man sagged in relief, his expression amused.

“An irredeemable rogue, am I? I think I heard ‘dangerous, indecent and obscene’ in there too.”

Malavai gave him a sickly smile.

“I had to play my part, didn’t I?”

Ven huffed, amused.

“I didn’t say you were _wrong_ , darling.”

He studied Malavai for a moment, and it was hard not to shift under the intense look.

“You didn’t turn me in.” he observed, tilting his head.

Malavai frowned.

“Of course not,” he defended, “We had a deal.”

Ven shook his head, a faint smile on his face.

“But you already had your end fulfilled, and more.” He pointed out. “You could have turned me in.”

Malavai folded his arms.

“I still could, if you prefer?” he shot back meanly, irritated. He wasn’t _that_ underhanded. … Well, maybe he was. Only when he had to be though, or so he liked to tell himself.

Ven’fir just laughed.

“No, I like your company better.” He grinned, stepped close. “Now, can you get these cuffs off? They’re heavy.”

Malavai smiled.

“Who says I want you out of them? You can’t leave yet; they’re still combing this place for you.”

Ven conceded the point with a reluctant nod.

“What do you suggest?” he asked, curious. A little smile crept over his face. “Need some way to pass the time?”

Malavai, cheeks turning crimson and belly flaring with heat, aimed for a nonchalant shrug.

“I can head out to the general store for a few things,” he murmured. “And maybe find something to jimmy those cuffs.”

Ven’fir’s little smile became a lascivious grin, bright and wide and he sashayed closer. The spurs on his boots made faint metallic noises as he moved. He was sin on legs, and Malavai wasn’t immune to him.

“Buy some oil,” the taller man purred, grey eyes warm and dark. “And some whiskey.”

Malavai, head turning fuzzy with want and the memories of just what they’d been doing earlier, nodded.

“I’m riding west tomorrow,” he murmured, stepping close. “Heading for Lander County.”

Ven’fir met him in the middle, raising his hands with a clink of metal, to rest against Malavai’s chest.

“Lucky,” he breathed. “That I think this town is tapped. Me and my crew need to head elsewhere until the heat dies down.” He looked sly. “And Lander County is as good a place as any.”

Malavai blinked, and Ven laughed at him, low and playful.

“You’re fun.” he muttered, pressing close enough to feel his warmth. “And I’m not done with you yet. Help me out of this dust hole of a town, and my crew will join you on the road tomorrow.”

Malavai was feeling a bit overwhelmed.

“And once we get there?” he asked. “I’ve actually got business there, you know.”

Ven shrugged, smile wicked.

“Well, I can repay the favour, and we can take our time.” He breathed, and their noses touched. Malavai couldn’t hide his jump.

“And you’ll find some other businessman to bleed dry?” He countered; voice just as low as Ven’s. His hands sat on the other mans hips, and he could feel the solidness of his form under his shirt.

Ven had the gall to wink, wicked.

“I need to be kept in the manner to which I am accustomed,” he teased. “And you’re entirely too fun to leave alone.”

Malavai, overwhelmed, distracted and full of bad ideas, surged forwards and kissed him.

He felt Ven smile into the kiss and melt against him, and he couldn’t help but feel that this was the most fun he’d had in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, it's another plotless, smutty one.
> 
> ... You are all welcome. ;)


	33. Free Slot - Fairy Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fairy tales have a certain formula. When Prince Malavai's fairy fails to turn up on his sixteenth birthday, this causes things to a little... awry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are warnings for this chapter, including:  
> \- Hints of suicidal feelings  
> \- Depression  
> \- Anxiety and anxiety attacks  
> \- Murder

Once upon a time, there was a kingdom on the coast.

The king and queen had a son, a precious young boy, bright as a button and the spitting image of his beautiful mother.

The young prince tried to live up to the expectations of being the heir to the throne, but it soon became apparent that he was... lacking in certain aspects. Namely, the ability to inspire.

The prince was, sad to say, an incurable _bore_.

It came to a head on his sixteenth birthday, when traditionally the blessings of the fairy folk were bestowed upon a young heir.

His younger half-sister, already precocious and as shining as a sunbeam, patted his arm and offered the only smile he would see that day.

Whispers at court spoke of favour falling on her instead of her elder brother, and it was largely accepted that the queen would pass the crown over the prince if they were able.

The only spark of hope for the boy, it was whispered, was his fairy godparent.

After all, should a particularly well known or powerful fae become bound to him, surely this would make up for his many, _many_ shortcomings.

So, on the morning of his sixteenth birthday and after a perfectly traditional, fancy breakfast, a carefully selected group of family, courtiers and favoured guests gathered to wait for the arrival of the fairy godparent.

They waited, and they waited.

The prince stayed silent, his head bowed, as they waited some more.

Eventually, people began to leave.

The king and queen stayed until it was dark, before they too left without a word.

Eventually, even his little sister had to leave to go to bed.

The little girl gingerly patted his knee as she left, but he did not move.

Twenty-two years later, he was still waiting.

* * *

Malavai fussed with his hair.

He looked critically at himself in the mirror for a few moments, before fiddling with his hair again.

The mirror sighed, a face surfacing from the reflection like they were coming up from water.

“You're adequate. Stop.”

Malavai ignored the mirror, and the face scowled at him.

“What, you want a compliment?” the mirror snarked at him, “Stop touching your hair. You'll be late.”

“I will not be late.” Malavai muttered sourly, although he did stop touching his hair. “I am never late.”

The mirror scoffed.

“I can assure you; it's noted. You'd never be that interesting.”

Flushing, Malavai turned on his heel and walked away, closing the door to his dressing room with a tiny bit more force than necessary.

Even the _mirrors_ didn’t respect him.

Fighting the wave of frustration and hurt as it crested dully into the beach of his feelings, he sighed.

Another day.

Great.

He fussed with his cuffs as he soothed his ruffled feathers.

He glanced outside, the windows providing a pleasant view over the gardens and manicured lawns.

Perfect box hedges formed geometric designs among immaculate paths, artful fountains and statuary carefully maintained along the way.

Not a leaf was out of place, not a stone unaccounted for.

It was _hideous._

Lip curling, Malavai turned away.

He didn’t want to be late, after all.

* * *

The grand ballroom was exactly that.

It was a room with soaring high ceilings and exquisite panels, gilt accents, and marble stonework. Huge candelabras lit with witchfire fire cast a bright light over the glittering decorations.

Tables were set out and groaning under fine glasses and carafes, and the air was heavy with excitement and pride.

Guests were already present, glittering ballgowns and on trend hairstyles next to razor sharp coats and immaculately shined shoes. Dazzling fans and gilt canes were flashed at jealous onlookers, and the air was buzzing and full of gossip.

Fairies flitted around, giving the air an ethereal shimmer. The minor fae were little more than decorations and entertainment, but the fairy godparents of the royal family were mingling.

The Queen’s fairy godmother was a matronly older woman with iron grey hair in an immaculate coif, her severe expression a match for the Queen’s. Her wings were folded against her back, dark and patterned. Malavi had always thought she looked like a particularly stern moth.

His sister’s fairy godparent was an elegant dagger of a figure of indeterminate gender, standing taller than most of the guests and dressed in spun silver that shone like metal against their deep skin, their liquid dark eyes watchful and ever serious as their iridescent dragonfly wings folded against their back like a shining gossamer train.

Other guests had fairy godparents bound to their line as all with the royal blood did, but none so powerful or impressive as the main line.

Malavai, of course, was the _exception_.

He despised all of it.

“Now presenting, Prince Malavai, Heir to the Throne of Kaasia.”

Malavai kept his face neutral as people glanced his way before they turned back to what they were doing.

That was quite the faux-pas, or it would have been if it were anyone else. As it stood, the rudeness towards the prince was tittered over.

He entered, and immediately headed for the sides where he could escape the crush of people and the choking mix of perfumes.

He really didn’t want to be here, wishing instead he were in his room curled up with a book.

After all, at least if he was hiding away then he didn’t need to _see_ everyone ignoring him.

Perhaps there would be a proposal today?

Not for him obviously, he hadn’t had proposals for years, but his sister was an enviable catch. She was the superior and more desirable sibling, despite not being the eldest. Malavai was old, boring, and hadn’t even been blessed with the attention of the measliest of the fairies. Why would anyone want to tie their heir to _him_? Everyone knew his sister would inherit the throne, after all.

Not that he wanted the hand of some simpering twit, but it would have been nice to be asked.

Or rather, it would have been nice for his complete exclusion not to be normalised to the point of ridiculousness.

No one spoke to him as he moved through the edges of the crowds, but he felt a few eyes land on him before moving onto something more interesting.

Barely hidden gossip reached his ears.

“Such a pity, don’t you think? How awful it must be for the queen…”

“Oh, yes! How _embarrassing_!”

He gritted his teeth and ignored them, as usual.

It really should have stopped hurting by now.

He approached the high table where the family sat, intending on doing his duty and greeting them before sitting through his _farce_.

The court wizard, Baras, was hovering nearby, speaking with one of the servants. His voluminous robes hid a portly belly and his expression was sneering and irritated.

Malavai approached the table and gave the appropriate bow, perfectly angled, and straightened after the appropriate number of seconds.

He raised his eyes and-

Oh.

He blinked, his focus on protocol slipping for the barest second as he took his family in.

The two thrones were heavy, imposing things, and his parents sat in them like they were made for them.

His sister sat in one of the smaller ones, set aside for her and Malavai.

He turned his eyes on her, and she had the grace to glance down and flush.

She was sitting at the right hand of the Queen.

The place of the heir.

His place.

For a moment, he was frozen.

His bones felt hot and blood rushed in his ears, his muscles feeling both weak and tense.

His breath was caught in his chest for long enough to burn, and his hands ached as he realised he was clenching them.

Fury welled up, hot and filling every crevice inside him.

He twitched and felt the urge to run, but instead bowed and made to back away and retreat.

“Malavai.”

His mother’s voice rang out, low and strong.

“Sit.”

She couldn’t possibly expect him to-

One look at her face told him his answer.

For a beat too long, he didn’t move.

Forcing his limbs to work, he walked stiffly to the vacant chair to the left of the king, who didn’t look at him. Malavai wasn’t his son, after all.

Malavai sat, and it felt like every muscle in his body was aching with how tense he held himself, but a landslide of embarrassment and hurt kept him from thinking clearly.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream.

 _Enough_.

Bare it.

Just like everything else.

Bare it.

_You’re too proud, and of what? Nothing. You didn’t expect this, but you should have. You’ve known for years that you’ll be cast aside, but now it’s finally happening in public it’s a shock?_

_Perhaps if you weren’t so useless, this wouldn’t happen._

He clenched his hands tighter, and a spike of pain shot up his arm as he dug his nails into his palms hard enough to mark his flesh.

His expression must have shown on his face as guests came up to pay their respects, as every glance his way ended with a quick exit.

Whispers darted around like trapped moths.

He could feel eyes on him.

He knew what they were saying.

It was finally happening.

Took them long enough.

What a disappointment.

A lump in his throat, Malavai steeled himself to sit through the night.

_I hate all of you._

* * *

His rooms had always been his refuge, sort of.

He retreated at the earliest opportunity, which wasn’t that early at all. Every time he had tried to leave, his mother had landed a hand on his shoulder like a claw and steered him back. It hurt.

He hated crowds and his breathing was getting shaky, his hands trembling and his thoughts rushing past too quickly like a river that kept pushing him under.

He closed his door and leaned against it, sliding down the wood until he was sprawled on the floor. The doorstop, a heavy wooden block, dug into his shin.

He wound his hands in his hair and his grip tightened, and the spike of pain helped ground him for a moment.

He breathed out with an explosive exhale, and his breathing shuddered as he sucked air into his aching lungs.

His felt like he was losing control, and he felt wetness on his cheeks. His heart was beating like a war drum in his chest and it _hurt_ , and he couldn’t breathe in without shaking.

It felt like he was in the plunge pool of a waterfall, unable to return to the surface as he was buffeted by water again and again.

He sobbed, shoulders shaking as he moved to wrapping his arms around himself tightly.

“Oh, don’t be so _sensitive._ ”

He held on tighter as the sound of the mirror’s nasal voice.

He couldn’t deal with this right now. There wasn’t _space_.

“Pathetic. Why couldn’t I have been someone else’s mirror? I could have been critiquing the future queen!”

The mirror wouldn’t stop _talking_.

With a snarl, he picked up the heavy doorstop and hurled it at the offending mirror. The heavy block of wood shattered the priceless glass, the sound sounding strangely loud to Malavai’s muffled ears.

Breathing hard, he stared at the broken mirror, the shards looking awfully dull and plain now the magic was gone.

He’d broken it.

He’d always hated that thing.

With a groan, he let his head fall into his hands. He would be in trouble for this; he was sure.

He was almost _forty_ , and he would be reprimanded like a disobedient child.

He was nothing _but_ obedient.

Obedience meant nothing when you were _worth_ nothing, though.

He drew in a shaking breath, a feeling of sinking, empty despair settling into his gut in the pit left by the fury.

He forced back tears.

“It’s all your fault,” he whispered, “You started this when you didn’t show up. You didn’t want me, so no one else does either.”

Dread and hurt and horrible, awful misery made his voice hoarse.

“I wish you were here so I could hurt _you_.” He breathed, meaning it.

He squeezed his eyes shut, digging his fingernails into his forearms.

A breath of wind touched his skin and he glanced up, wondering where a breeze might have come from.

His eyes widened.

From his place on the floor, something was in his room.

It was a sort of… tear in their air, the edges singing and twisting the air like crystal. A riot of colour could be seen beyond the tear, but the distortion was too great to see any details.

There was movement there, and as he was squinting at it, a dark shape rushed towards the tear.

Flinching back and finding only door behind him, Malavai watched in shock as a figure was unceremoniously ejected from the tear as though they had been pushed through.

A pinwheeling of arms and a flutter of clothing filled his vision as whoever had been ejected through stumbled before righting themselves before immediately turning to throw themselves back through.

They hit the tear with a dull ‘thunk’ and stumbled again as the crystalline opening unceremoniously closed in their face.

Malavai stared.

 _What_.

The figure swiped a hand through the air where the tear had been and let out a string of impressive curses.

He, and that voice was _definitely_ a ‘he’, turned and Malavai finally got a look at the interloper.

Oh.

He was _tall_.

His skin shone like burnished bronze, and it only made the sulphuric yellow gold of his eyes all the more shocking. Horns curved from his head, black, glossy and emerging from a mop of dark curls. He was dressed all in black, and by the look of him, he’d just been engaging in some serious revelry. His shirt was untied at the neck and showed far more skin than was respectable, and his breeches were indecently tight, leading to long boots. There was glitter and petals in his hair and dusted over his shoulders, and the tips of pointed ears peeked through his mop of hair. He folded his arms and glared, and the curl of his lip showed some wicked teeth.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Malavai blinked.

The visitor wasn’t happy, it seemed.

Several things clicked in his head.

He’d said ‘I wish’, and expressed his desire for the fairy who had declined to turn up for him to appear.

This man was quite obviously fae, even if he didn’t look like any fae Malavai had ever seen.

With a burning in his belly, he took two purposeful steps forward, drew back a fist, and punched the fairy in the face.

There was a satisfying crunch as something gave way under his hand, and he relished the pained howl he got for his trouble. The fairy jerked back, holding his nose and cursing.

Malavai had no intention of stopping, but unfortunately the fairy wasn’t keen on being hit again.

The man snarled and moved to intercept him as he went in to land another hit, and the two of them began to tussle on the stone floor.

Shimmering blood caught the light as it steamed from the fairy’s nose, and Malavai found himself fighting for his life against a bigger, stronger opponent. The fairy's golden yellow eyes were wide and furious, and razor sharp, curved talons on his fingertips sliced through Malavai's doublet and sent white hot pain through his body as they gauged his skin.

The fairy had him pinned, arms above his head and his legs kicking uselessly under the other man’s weight.

Malavai glared up at him, a vicious thrill going through his mind as he saw the bloody nose and bruise blossoming on one cheekbone.

The fairy bore his struggling with a look of furious, baffled annoyance.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” he asked, and his voice was like honey over stone.

In response, Malavai jerked a knee up and hit the fairy square between his legs.

Golden eyes widened and he hunched over in pain, giving Malavai the chance to scramble out from under him and backpedal a few steps.

The fairy was cursing up a storm, bent over and controlling his breathing.

He straightened gingerly, fixing a deathly glare at Malavai.

“You little human shitstain!” he snarled, flexing his clawed fingers. “Tell me who you are before I _kill you_.”

Malavai glared.

“You don’t already know, fairy?” he snapped back, not thinking beyond how angry he was.

The fairy narrowed his eyes.

“Should I?” he asked, dangerous. He looked distinctly avian somehow, even though a lot of his features didn’t match at all. He didn’t look like the gossamer delicate, ethereal fairies that Malavai saw at court.

To compare them to him would be like comparing a beagle puppy to a dire wolf.

Malavai pinned him with a look.

“You’re the reason I dread waking up each morning.” he hissed, “You’re the reason my life has always been _shit_.”

The fairy studied him closely.

“Aren’t you dramatic? Bibbity bobbity go fuck yourself.” he drawled meanly, wiping blood from his face with the back of his hand. “I ruin a lot of lives darling, be specific.”

Oh, Malavai _hated_ him.

“A few moments ago,” he murmured with venom, “I made a _wish_. I wished for the fairy that should have been bound to me to appear, so that I could hurt them for what they did to me.”

He cast a critical eye up and down the dishevelled fairy.

“And here you are.”

The fairy stared.

“I… It’s _you_?” he blurted out; eyes wide. “ _You’re_ the one?”

A second of silence, before he began to laugh.

“And to think, I did everything I could to avoid being bound to some stuck up, arrogant, _pathetic_ excuse for a prince, only for him to summon me anyway!” He cackled, and it was a horrible sound.

Malavai felt his stomach twist uncomfortably.

The fairy’s laughter died down, leaving him looking hollow and dangerous. He took a measured step forwards.

Then another.

“Listen to me, _human_ ,” he ground out, low and threatening. “I will not be bound by you or _anyone_. You will send me back right this instant, or I’ll gut you and leave you for your chambermaids to find.”

Malavai set his jaw and stepped into the other man’s space.

“Do it, then.” He snarled, low.

The fairy seemed surprised, and it showed on his face. Malavai grabbed one of his hands, noting how inhumanly warm it was, and how heavy the claws were.

He set the claws against his heart, feeling how it beat so fast and hard against his chest.

“Do it.” He ordered, mind under the heavy fugue of manic fury. His lungs burned and it felt like he couldn’t draw in enough air to keep him sane. “You started this; you should end it. Take some responsibility.” He spat, and the fairy stared at him with wide eyes.

“Started what?” he asked, his tone surprised at his own question as though he hadn’t meant to ask it.

Malavai swallowed hard, the painful lump in his throat sending an ache through his tongue.

“What do you _think_?” he muttered sourly, “Every member of the royal line has had a fairy godparent bound to them. _Every last one._ Except me.” He stressed, seized by the need to make him understand. “I was already a failure, but when no fairy even stepped forward to claim me? Do you think that it would be waved off? You’ve condemned me to a life of ridicule and whispers, fairy. My sister will take my place as heir and I’ll rot here, useless and forgotten, until I throw myself off this fucking tower or waste away from old age. Maybe no one will even notice!” he laughed, manic. His head swam. “Maybe I’ll be dead for weeks before someone follows the rats.”

The fairy stepped back, staring.

“You’re mad.” He murmured, and Malavai drew in a hitched breath.

“Maybe.” He allowed, suddenly feeling very drained. He felt the energy leave his limbs, and he sagged as he stood. “Probably.”

The fairy was still for a few long moments, thinking. His golden amber eyes were otherworldly and wild, like the dancing flames of witchfire.

“You’re not going to bind me?”

Malavai just looked at him.

“No. I used to dream of catching a fairy and binding it to me to pretend, but it’s been too long. I… no. I’m not going to bind you.”

“Not a glowing testimonial.” The fairy muttered dryly, and Malavai shrugged.

“Does it matter? I was a child. I wouldn’t know how anyway.”

The fairy swallowed, still studying him.

“Ven’fir.”

Malavai blinked, and the fairy frowned at him.

“My name, _human_ , is Ven’fir.”

Oh.

“Ven’fir.” Malavai murmured, testing out how the name sounded in his mouth. He glanced up. “Malavai.”

Ven’fir nodded, wary. He shifted his weight, and generally looked uncomfortable now he wasn’t aiming to kill.

“Can you send me back?” he asked, glancing around as if he would spot another portal or whatever he’d fallen out of.

Malavai sighed.

“I wish he went back to whatever boorish revelry he was engaged in before he arrived here.” He said out loud, ignoring the unimpressed look Ven’fir threw his way.

Nothing happened.

Malavai shrugged tiredly.

“No.”

Ven’fir cursed.

“We _will_ find a way.” He assured, pointing a taloned finger at Malavai. “I will not stay in this dull little plane for any longer than I have to.”

Malavai managed a thin, humourless little smile.

“I wish I could say the same.”

* * *

Ven’fir was hard to hide.

Malavai hid the state of his rooms as best he could, but eventually the maids had to enter or suspicions would have been raised.

He bore their looks and their over interested curiosity with a cold sneer, and a mean sort of satisfaction bloomed in his belly as they quickly looked away from his gaze.

Ven’fir had taken the form of a raven with startling yellow eyes, and promptly taken off out of the window the moment he had heard people in the corridor.

Malavai was left alone, and for a horrible moment he thought Ven’fir wasn’t going to come back.

After all, why should he?

There was exactly no reason for the fairy to stay, after all.

What could Malavai offer him?

Ven’fir could find someone else to get him home, and Malavai would be back where he started.

Miserable, pathetic, and alone.

He fought not to let his feelings overwhelm him and left the room to let the maids to their work.

He headed for his favourite place in the palace, the library.

Malavai had always loved books, falling into their pages as an escape from the unpleasant realities of his life at the palace.

The custodian nodded politely to him and he returned the greeting, immediately feeling at home in the cold, musty space.

The custodian was a wizened old man that cared for nothing and no-one but the books and scrolls, and Malavai appreciated that. He doubted the man even knew who he was.

The library was blessedly empty at this time of the morning, so Malavai was free of stares and curious looks as he perused the available books for one on his chosen subject.

Magic. Specifically, magic on transportation.

Settling in his favourite nook, the one with the drafty window that no one else wanted to be near, he piled up his spoils on the old table and began to read.

Engrossed in his reading, he barely noticed the dark shape landing with a hop on the stone window ledge. A sharp tap on the grubby glass made him jump, and he calmed his racing heart as he saw a raven at the window. The raven, somehow, managed to look displeased.

Hoping he wasn’t letting a wild bird into the library, her unhooked the latch and opened the window.

The raven hopped in, watching his beadily as it ruffled dewdropped feathers.

It bounced its way onto the bench opposite Malavai, where it’s form lost cohesion and took the form of a windswept, grumpy fairy.

Ven’fir looked tired and irritable, although he seemed to have gone to the trouble of acquiring different clothes.

“Is it always raining in this stupid place?” he grunted, leaning back against a bookcase in a terrible display of posture.

Malavai watched him, fascinated by his inhuman features. Even the other fairies didn’t look as obviously _other_.

“Yes,” he admitted, keeping his eyes on the fairy as he ran his fingers through tangles curls. “If it’s not raining, it’s about to be.”

Ven’fir rolled his eyes, and Malavai frowned at him.

“Where did you get new clothes from?” he asked, curious. “You can’t have borrowed mine; they wouldn’t fit you.”

Ven’fir was, after all, rather broader than Malavai was. He was taller too, although Malavai was sure than his legs were longer.

Ven’fir grinned, showing those wicked teeth.

“I bought them, of course.” He supplied, his tone sly.

“With what money? And who did you buy them from?” Malavai pressed. “You don’t exactly fit in.”

Ven’fir gave a wolfish smile.

“Used your money,” he said easily, “And I changed my form for a bit. I can’t do it for long, but I don’t need to.”

Malavai blinked, before sighing.

“Don’t steal from me again,” he muttered, not really caring. “I have an allowance and if that’s depleted, people will ask questions.”

The fairy sighed.

“An allowance? What are you, a child? You’re how old in human years? Mid-fifties?”

Malavai slammed his book shut, and a puff of dust emanated from the pages.

He narrowed his eyes at the lounging fairy.

“I,” he snapped, “Am thirty-eight.”

“Old, then.”

“Oh, and I’m sure you’re barely out of your teens.” Malavai sneered, looking the fairy up and down.

Ven’fir shrugged, amused.

“I’m only one hundred and three.”

Well, Malavai had no idea of that was old or not for a fairy.

He huffed and returned to his book, ignoring Ven’fir’s snigger.

His belly squirmed and his limbs felt light and tingly.

That was… fun. Arguing with Ven’fir was _fun_.

It was probably the most interesting thing that Malavai had participated in in months, and wasn’t that a crushing thought?

He sighed, setting the book down after only a few pages.

“I can’t find anything on portals.” He admitted, displeased. “Or anything on real magic.”

Ven’fir scowled.

“Checked the entire library, have you?” he sniped, and Malavai flushed.

“Yes, actually.” He shot back, embarrassed. “I’m in here often. I… I wanted to find books on magic when I was younger.”

Ven’fir softened a little.

“Wanted to cast spells?” he asked, tone quieter.

Malavai fiddled with his cuff before forcing himself to stop and sit up straight again.

“I suppose so,” he demurred, “No good thinking about it now, though. I’m no good at magic, and it’s pointless to try.”

Ven’fir sighed and folded his arms.

“You’re a terrible misery, aren’t you?”

Malavai blinked, cheeks flushing pink. Hurt and annoyance caused his belly to squirm.

“Yes, I am.” He murmured, “Go and find someone else to annoy if I’m such awful company.”

The fairy rolled his eyes.

“Like whom? The maids?” he scoffed. “No chance. Come on, I’m bored. I want to do something _fun_.”

“Fun isn’t allowed,” Malavai muttered dryly, “Haven’t you noticed that yet?”

Ven’fir gave him a look, and it was made piercing by his yellow eyes.

“ _You_ don’t have fun, but that doesn’t mean there’s none to be had.” He assured, amused. “If I can’t find anything to do, I’ll have to do _you_.”

Malavai was sure he’d heard wrong, even as heat surged into his cheeks. He held his book tightly, pressed against his chest as though it would protect him.

“Excuse me?” he spluttered, and Ven’fir gave a somewhat mean-spirited laugh.

“You heard me,” he grinned. “I bet you’re either a complete cold fish in bed, or secretly a wild thing. I’m curious which it is.”

Malavai stood up, clutching his books.

“You’re _horrible_.” he hissed, and marched away, his ears burning. Ven’fir’s laughter followed him.

* * *

Malavai’s interactions with Ven’fir were not able to drown out the feeling of creeping misery that was steadily encroaching on his heart again. The fairy was vicious and often mean spirited when he was slighted or denied, but he was _interesting._ He was new and different, and he didn’t seem to care about all the things that made Malavai useless.

Malavai researched, and Ven’fir… well, he did whatever he did.

Every time he flew away in the form of a raven, Malavai was worried it would be the last time he saw him. It had been _weeks_ since he’d wished him to his side, and there was still that stab of worry.

Ven’fir was the only bright spot, the only thing he could look forward to that would change the wretched monotony of being a ghost in the palace. He had duties to attend to and attend to them he did, but he took no joy from them. No excitement.

The servants still whispered, and the court still gossiped. His parents still ignored him, and his sister still offered no more than a small smile before she was whisked away to some meeting or to sit at the queen’s side.

Malavai still did that, sometimes. When they remembered to include him.

He hated it, but he hated the idea of being replaced even more.

He stumbled into his rooms after a day of court, of sitting in silence as people watched him and of trying to impress his mother. He never would, he knew.

It didn’t stop him from trying.

He tried to be perfect, he _did_ , he just… never seem to be quite right. Too slow, too kind, too callous, to quiet or too loud. His posture was too rigid just as it was too loose, and his tone too dead.

Never quite right.

Ven’fir was lounging on his bed as Malavai entered, his nose in a book.

He glanced up as the door opened, tense and ready to change form in a moment.

When he saw it was Malavai, he relaxed for a moment before he saw his expression. The fairy frowned, setting the book aside.

“What’s wrong with _you_?”

Malavai was not in the mood.

“Nothing.” He snapped, head aching and ears ringing with too much _everything._ The clothes he wore suddenly felt rough and coarse despite their fine make, and they chafed his oversensitive skin.

Ven’fir scoffed, and Malavai hated him at that moment. He hated everyone and everything, and the slightest noise was only making him angrier.

“If ‘nothing’ made your face like that, it’s no wonder no one will talk to you.” The fairy teased meanly and Malavai tried to ignore him, marching towards the open window and leaning against it to breath in cold, damp air. A storm was rolling in, and he appreciated the bruise purple clouds for a few seconds.

“Shut up.” He muttered weakly.

“Make me.”

He closed his eyes and wanted to _cry._

“Stop it.” He whispered, and it came out as a croak. Pathetic.

There was silence for beat or three, and Malavai wasn’t sure if the fairy weren’t about to mock him some more.

Instead, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and he flinched as the feeling against his skin.

Ven’fir was looking at him with a small frown and a whisper of concern written over his features, studying Malavai’s face.

“You look terrible.” He pronounced firmly. “Come away from there.”

He gave Malavai a little tug, and Malavai yanked his arm away, irritated and drained.

“Don’t touch me.”

“I’m not- Come _on_ , prince. Just… come away from there.” He requested, frustrated. “Please?”

Malavai frowned. He’d never heard the fairy say ‘please’ before.

He glanced back to the large window, and something slicked in his head like puzzle pieces fitting together.

“I’m not going to throw myself off.” He muttered, obligingly stepping away. His head was spinning.

Ven’fir didn’t try and touch him again, but hovered a hand near his elbow anyway, guiding him to the bed. The sheets were rumpled, the embroidered coverlet wrinkled and a dent where the fairy had been laying.

“Good.” Ven’fir grunted, guiding him over to sit him on the bed. He perched beside him and sighed.

“Sorry,” he muttered, contrite. “I was an ass.”

Malavai gave a choked little laugh.

“Yeah, you are. It’s alright.”

Ven’fir frowned.

“No, it isn’t.” he stressed, “It’s not alright at all. You know what also isn’t alright? You thinking people can speak to you that way.”

“I told you to stop.” Malavai protested weakly, and the fairy’s frown deepened.

“Yeah, _eventually_. You need to stand up for yourself.”

Annoyance poked it’s head in once again, and Malavai scowled at him.

“Really? Do tell me how easy it is to fix all my woes, oh wise fairy.” He hissed, “Tell me what I should be doing, like I’m too stupid to not have already figured that out.”

Ven’fir gritted his teeth before he took a deep breath and let it out again slowly.

“Okay, fair.” He admitted. “I hate it when people do that to me, too.”

Malavai was quiet, feeling fatigued and drained.

“I’m sorry too,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have taken that out on you.” He paused, glancing over. “Today, at least, is not directly your fault.”

Ven’fir grunted, and Malavai could feel his warmth seeping through his clothes where their arms touched.

“I’m not sorry for not turning up, you know.” He muttered, quiet and serious. “I didn’t want to be bound to some lordling, to give up my life to serve some human who wanted to play king.”

Malavai forced down the instinctual flush of resentment that caused.

Ven’fir hadn’t wanted to be caged.

He wanted to live his own life without the shackles of another person strangling it.

Malavai could understand that all too well.

“I understand,” he murmured, and a pain gripped his heart. “It still hurts though, to be the ignored one. To have not even the fairy bound to your blood want you.”

Ven’fir was silent for a while.

“You still got me, though. I’m here, after all.”

“Not by choice.”

“No? I could have left any time I wanted.”

That was true.

Malavai wanted to sleep.

“Why haven’t you?” he asked, curious. His head swam and he took a deep breath of cold air to fend off the drooping eyes.

Ven’fir shot him a lopsided, sad little grin.

“Perhaps I feel a _little_ responsible,” he admitted. “I don’t regret not letting myself be bound to you, but I do regret the effect it had on you.”

He shifted awkwardly and sighed.

“I won’t apologise for my freedom,” he assured quickly, as if Malavai had been about to ask him to. “But I do wish it hadn’t come at the cost of yours. For a human, you’re not… awful.”

Malavai managed a weak smile.

“You’re definitely the worst fairy I’ve ever met.” He muttered, and Ven’fir gave a startled laugh.

“I don’t doubt it.” He paused, and his yellow eyes somehow looked softer than before. Malavai yawned again, his body numb and heavy.

“Sleep, prince. I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

“You really don’t talk to many people, do you?”

Malavai glanced up from where he was studying a grimoire. He’d gotten his hands on it through some cajoling of the curator, the only person who didn’t seem to understand who he was speaking to.

He frowned.

“No, not really.” He admitted carefully, “Why?”

Ven’fir shrugged, lounging. He had terrible posture, and a habit of walking around in less than proper dress. He spoke like he’d had the same lessons Malavai had in elocution, but his manners left something to be desired. At least he wasn’t a slob.

“I just wonder if it wouldn’t be good for you to speak to someone but me.”

Malavai scoffed.

“I’ve had twenty-two years of trying to win these people’s interest and affection,” he assured, cold. “They’ve made it quite clear that I have nothing to offer them, so they want nothing to do with me.”

Ven’fir sighed.

“They are awful,” he agreed, “I listen in on them from the rafters, sometimes.”

Malavai nodded.

“I wish one day; I could hurt every last one of them like they hurt me.” He murmured, thinking about it. “They’d beg me to help them, but I would refuse and let them burn.”

Ven’fir gave him a look, and a small, wicked smile curled around the corners of his mouth.

“Oh? You grow more interesting by the day, prince.”

Malavai flushed and buried his nose back into the book, unable to keep the smile off his face.

* * *

“Where are your wings?”

“Excuse me?”

Malavai blushed, fussily playing with the hem of his tunic. “All the other fairies I’ve seen have wings, but you don’t.” he explained awkwardly, “Why not?”

Ven’fir was doing something with some coloured stones, arranging them in particular ways and then gathering them up and casting them onto the stone floor.

He gave Malavai a long look.

“Who says all fairies have wings?” he asked, too neutral to be truly uninterested. Ven’fir was never neutral about anything.

“No one, I suppose.” Malavai allowed. “I’ve just never seen one without.”

Ven’fir raised an eyebrow.

“And I bet you’ve never seen one that looks like me, either.”

“I was going to ask about that too.”

The fairy snorted, a smile playing about his mouth.

“So curious.” He teased, and Malavai half-heartedly glared at him.

He sighed and reached up to pull his tunic over his head. Malavai immediately protested, but his words died as Ven’fir turned around and showed his back.

Huge, ugly welts of scars covered his skin.

Two massive wounds were now ropes of hideous scar tissue, and the flesh looked like melted wax that had cooled.

Mouth dry, Malavai could only stare.

“I cut them off.” Ven’fir murmured, head bowed. Malavai stood, transfixed. He reached out a hand to brush a fingertip over the ruined flesh, and Ven’fir started at the light touch. He calmed himself and stayed where he was.

Malavai laid a palm over the scars, feeling how the tough wounds under his fingers felt different from unblemished skin. Ven’fir was tense and the muscle in his back was firm from how he was holding himself, but as Malavai did nothing but run his fingers over the scars, he relaxed.

“I can’t feel much,” he admitted gruffly, “But that tickles a bit.”

“Sorry.” Malavai muttered but didn’t stop. “Why did you cut them off?”

“It was a punishment,” the fairy sighed. “For running away and not going to you.”

Malavai paused, his mind spinning.

“You did this to yourself?” he breathed, and Ven’fir shivered, gooseflesh raising across his shoulders.

“I got caught, of course. My family didn’t like that I’d shirked my duty to be bound to the future king. So, they gave me a choice. Cut them off and be cast from the family or be executed. I chose the obvious.”

Malavai’s throat felt tight and he tried to swallow past the lump there.

He didn’t know what to say. What _could_ he say?

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, unable to move his eyes from the wounds. The roots of his wings looked large, and he wondered how big they would have been. They looked like they would have been huge.

Ven’fir’s shoulder blades flexed and he drew away, turning to see Malavai standing there with his expression blown wide open.

The fairy looked tired and grave, but he offered an unconvincing little smile.

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” he assured. “I wish you could have seen them, though.”

Malavai wished so too.

“I’ll bet they were beautiful.” He smiled.

“They were.” Ven’fir murmured, wistful and sad.

* * *

“I’m bored, prince. Entertain me?”

Malavai glanced over.

“I’m trying to get you home,” he reminded, ignoring how that hurt. “Entertain yourself, or help.”

Ven’fir sighed.

He was lounging on Malavai’s bed again, this time without his shirt on. After he had shown Malavai his back and the scars from where his wings once were, he had gotten much more comfortable with Malavai, who was finding the touching and the physical closeness quite distracting.

Ven’fir was _gorgeous_ , and Malavai wasn’t immune to him.

He wasn’t human, not at all, but that didn’t matter. He was-

Well, he was distracting.

The fairy propped his chin in one palm, watching Malavai.

“Those books won’t help, will they?” he asked, sighing.

Malavai swallowed, and carefully closed the book.

“I… no, probably not. I have to try, though.” He murmured. “Even if we got the right texts, I’m not good at magic.”

That hurt.

He’d wanted to be good at magic for as long as he could remember.

But he wasn’t.

He just didn’t have the power.

His belly turned, and he gripped the book harder.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed.

Just one more thing he was useless at.

Ven’fir grunted something, levering himself up off the bed.

“Well, we’ll keep trying.” He muttered, frustrated. “If I am to be stuck here, it won’t be hiding in this castle.”

Malavai’s body flushed cold, like ice was in his veins.

He knew Ven’fir wouldn’t stay with him, not for ever. They’d already had almost a month, and even that was long enough to surprise.

“I… You should go if you want to.” Malavai said stiffly, and the words sounded stilted to his own ears. “Don’t trap yourself here.”

Even if I want you to stay, he thought.

Ven’fir glanced at him, hawkish gaze penetrating.

“You sound like you want me gone.” He accused. “And here I thought we were finally getting along.”

His tone was carefully light and just a little mocking, but Malavai thought he could hear hurt under it all.

There was a lump in his throat.

“You’ll leave anyway, won’t you?” he pointed out, trying to keep his voice steady. “Why prolong staying in this place? Get it over with.”

Ven’fir narrowed his eyes.

“Bitter like nettles, you are.” he accused, hands flexing and the talons tipping his fingers catching the watery light from the window. “You want me to stay, but you want me to leave. Which is it?”

Malavai wanted to scream at him.

“You'll leave, eventually. You'll leave and I’ll be left here again, stuck inside these walls.” He said eventually, reluctant. “I’m being selfish, keeping you here.”

“As a prince in a palace? How awful.” Ven’fir scoffed, folding his arms. He was angry and Malavai could _feel_ it, how the fairy wanted to spit venom at him for what he was saying.

A flush of fury ignited in his belly, and he stood, his frame tense. Ven’fir _knew_ what Malavai thought of his home and he still poked at that wound.

“Do you have any idea what it's like?” Malavai snapped, “I walk the halls of this horrible place, and all I hear is the giggling of the maids. I see the sneer of the butler. Every moment that someone forgets my name, when they laugh at me, let a door close in my face, forget to invite me to something, or when they speak over me like I’d never even opened my mouth, I _feel_ that. I’m a laughingstock, fae. I’m _nothing_ , and _no one_.”

It was hard not to let tears prickle his eyes as he spoke, and he wondered where all his control had gone. Perhaps the control had been a lie, and now what was inside was seeping out like mud from a shaky dam.

“Why don’t you leave, then?” Ven’fir asked pointedly, not backing down.

Malavai wanted to laugh, and a slightly hysterical giggle escaped anyway.

“You think I could?” he asked, “You think I’d be allowed anywhere near those doors? The only thing worse than a pathetic, useless son like me is if a pathetic, useless son ran away. So no, escape is a dream and nothing more. This palace is my _cell_.”

Malavai was breathing deeply, the anger demanding more from his body than it was used to. He felt warm and flushed and his heartbeat drummed in his ears as he bared his soul for the man who was looking at him with glittering, fascinated eyes. The fairy looked hungry, somehow.

“So you would leave, if you could? You wouldn’t seize the throne?” he asked, tilting his head. Raven’s feather curls moved to expose pointed ears pierced through with gold, and his eyes shone.

Malavai’s hand cut through the air in a harsh gesture.

“You think I'd rather just run away? If I took that throne, do you really think it would work? I could wield my power, sure. I could force them to respect me, to bow to me and to _fear_ me. I could burn _every last one of them_ , and I would _laugh_. But it wouldn’t last. I’d still be trapped here, king of a court I hate and a people I don’t care about. They won’t ever forget how they laughed at me. They won’t ever forget that I was nothing to them.”

He swallowed painfully, raw and salted by his own confessions.

“No, I’d leave on my own terms. Not that I can.”

Ven’fir stepped close, and his expression was close in intensity to when they had first met.

“So, you’ll give up?” he accused, almost snarling. “You’ll just sit there and wait for... what, some scraps?”

Malavai couldn’t draw his eyes away from him. He was glorious, beautiful, and brilliant. He would burn Malavai to ashes if he touched him and it would be worth every agonising second.

He was force and chaos and fire and Malavai coveted him as much as he coveted the freedom he would never have.

Ven’fir was otherworldly and everything Malavai wasn’t. He was capricious and flighty and shameless.

Malavai’s breath caught.

“I-“ he tried again, breathless. “I don’t know what I want, but I know that I don’t want to be here.”

Ven’fir was awfully close, and Malavai could see every freckle over his cheeks, every curl that fell over his forehead. His yellow eyes were warm and flaying.

“We’ll go then, together.” He breathed, and Malavai felt his hands cup his face.

He knew his eyes were wide and his breathing was shaky, but the warmth from Ven’fir’s body was seeping through his clothes. He leaned into it like a cat in a pool of sunlight.

He wanted more of this. More chaos and more fire and more _feeling_.

Malavai’s own hands, pale and slender compared to Ven’fir’s, came up to brush his cheek.

“I don’t know how.” he breathed, hurting. He still couldn’t help. Ven’fir’s answering smile was dark and wicked.

“What are you willing to do,” the fairy murmured, coming so close their noses touched. “To leave this place? To make yourself _untouchable_?”

The idea sent a shiver down Malavai’s spine. Untouchable. Free. _Powerful_.

Visions swam before him of freedom and power, and he wanted that. He’d been denied it all his life, been the butt of jokes and pitying looks. He was forgotten and useless, not worthy of even a shred of affection or attention.

His veins felt like they were on fire, and he pressed close, dizzy with feeling.

“Anything.” He breathed, and Ven’fir’s sharp, wicked smile should not have been what made him pull him down into a kiss that felt like a pact.

* * *

Malavai felt as though he was falling from a great height, unable to stop himself from tumbling.

Ven’fir bit at his throat and he couldn’t hold a moan, his body heavy and hot as he shifted his weight. Strong arms held him close and he let them, giving himself over to the feelings that coursed through his body.

He felt wrong. Perfect. Dirty. Wonderful.

He hitched a breath and moved to kiss his lover, drinking him in even as he held on for dear life.

Oh, he wasn’t supposed to be doing this.

That was probably why he was enjoying it so much.

His mind quieted for once and he could think of nothing but the moment, and it brought a russet sort of peace that was addictive.

Ven’fir seemed happy to indulge him, and the thrill never seemed to fade.

It was a high that he saw no downsides to, and he threw himself into wicked smiles and whispered words and breath-taking depravity with delighted abandon, because he’d never had so much _feeling_ before.

It was all encompassing and wonderful, and to compare it to previous experiences was insulting to his fairy lover.

He smiled down at Ven’fir and bit at his lip, just enough to draw a drop of glittering blood. The fairy gazed up at him with eyes like witchfire, and he brushed a damp lock of hair from Malavai’s forehead in an affectionate gesture.

“You like this?” he breathed, and it was all Malavai could do to nod and close his eyes, throwing his head back and losing himself.

* * *

Malavai found it hard to think about anything but Ven’fir and their plans, and it was heady.

His family hadn’t noticed the change in him, of which he was sure there was one. The servants were cagier of his temper, even if they didn’t know why.

He curled into the furnace of warmth next to him, revelling in the mixed feelings that coursed through his body.

This was wrong, yet that was one of the things that made him want to do it more.

They were mostly dressed still, simply finding comfort in closeness instead of tearing at each other.

He could feel Ven’fir’s breathing even out as he relaxed, and Malavai was filled with such a surge of emotion that it took his own breath away.

Ven’fir might still leave.

Malavai wanted him. He needed him.

A taloned finger ran down his spine and he shivered, insides clenching with feeling. That felt nice.

“What are you thinking about?” Ven rumbled from beside him, and Malavai propped himself up on an elbow, unsure how to answer.

He decided on honesty, for once.

“You.” He murmured, “And what it will be like when you leave.”

Ven’fir opened his eyes, inhuman yellow staring at him. He looked softer than Malavai expected.

“I won’t leave,” he assured gently, “I said I wouldn’t.”

Malavai let out a shuddering breath, taking those words and trying to believe them.

“My parents will finally die or step down in their old age, and they will pass on the crown to my sister. Everyone will nod because that’s a given, now.” He whispered, closing his eyes and forcing down the nauseous feeling building inside him. “She'll be crowned, and she’ll rule well. She might take pity on me and give me some meaningless position or title, but she’s not stupid. She won’t change anything enough to matter. So, I’ll sit here and grow old, tired, and greyer than I am. I’ll watch myself crumble away and know that I was _nothing_ , and that I did _nothing_. I’m a forgettable failure. I was completely inconsequential.”

His voice broke on the last words, but he felt like a coracle at the edge of a waterfall, unable to escape the pull of the water.

“Maybe one day I’ll have had enough, and I’ll throw myself off this fucking tower. Maybe people will notice then, just for a little bit. Maybe they’ll think of me without laughing. But not for long.

‘Aww,’ they'll think, ‘A sad, useless prince came to a sad, useless end. A pity.’

And then they’ll move on.

I’ll be forgotten again.

No one, not a single soul, will mourn my death.”

He felt tears wet his cheeks, and Ven’fir held him tightly, silent. Malavai clung to him, and it felt like he couldn’t keep it all inside. It had grown too big for him, and it spilled out.

“No one will remember that I was once a person, that I lived. No one will look back and remember me or miss where I used to be.

It’ll be like I never even existed.”

He opened his eyes and blinked away the tears, looking Ven’fir in the eyes. The fairy’s expression was flayed.

“So you'll have to forgive me if I savour these days with you, because they’re going to be the only moment of my life that might bring me some semblance of a fond memory when I’m too old and tired to do anything else but wish I’d never been born.”

Ven’fir’s face crumpled, and he surged forwards to gather Malavai in his arms and hold him close, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Oh, _Malavai_.” He breathed and let him sob his feeling into his shoulder like poison being drawn from a wound.

* * *

“Every time we stop fucking, I end up _thinking_. I hate it. ... Up for another?”

“Anything for you.”

* * *

“You're really into this, aren’t you?”

Malavai blushed. “Is it that obvious?”

Ven’fir grinned.

“Mmhmm. Not that experienced, though.” He teased and the human glanced away, embarrassed.

“Can you blame me for that? I don’t have suitors knocking on my door, you know. Anyone that I did take to bed, well, I wasn’t going to show them _this_.”

This, meaning _himself_. What he wanted. What he liked. The headspace he fell into when Ven’fir wound his fingers in his hair and pulled his head back so he could bite at Malavai’s throat while the human held onto him for dear life, his eyes closing as they rolled back into his head.

“Why me and not them?” the fairy asked, pressing little kisses over Malavai’s shoulder.

Malavai reached out and cupped his face, fond. Affection was terrifying, but he threw himself into it anyway.

“Because you're here for _me_. You're not here for a political favour, you're not here because of a bet. You’ve no reason to kill me, and you aren’t hoping for an easy fuck from a desperate, lonely prince. You might be here out of pity, and perhaps you are. But... if you pity me, you're not here for anyone else. Just me.”

“Malavai...”

The human silenced him with a press of his mouth, quick and firm.

“Shush. I want to take advantage of your company while I still have it.” He murmured as he leaned in so he could mutter what he wanted into a pointed ear, flushing and having to force the words out. He didn’t notice how Ven’fir’s smile had dimmed at his mention of Ven’fir leaving him again, but the fairy brightened it for him before he could see.

“I... Yeah. That sounds fun.”

* * *

“Thank you, Ven.”

“What for?”

“For lying to me. I appreciate it.”

* * *

“What would you do? If you could leave, I mean?”

Malavai looked up from where he was sharpening the blade in his hands.

“I don’t know. I’m not good at anything.” He admitted, sore. Nothing useful, anyway.

Ven’fir frowned. “That's not true. You're the cleverest person here.”

How sweet of him.

Malavai flashed him a quick smile. “Well, yes. What use is that, though?” He paused, thinking back. It was like looking at the world without colour. “When I was younger, I liked the idea of being a soldier. I thought that if I were brave and fought great battles, everyone would like me. I can’t do that, though. I’m not allowed. I... You'll laugh at such a childish fancy, but I always wished I could learn magic.”

Ven’fir didn’t laugh, but a fond smile did spread over his face. “Really, why?”

“It's fascinating, and I like learning. I’d never stop discovering if I got the chance. I could actually do something useful.” The human murmured, his imagination showing him what could have been. It was bittersweet. Magic wasn’t just limited to humans of course; fairies had their own power. Fairy magic was innate and deeply personal, or so Ven’fir said. It wasn’t learned from books or rules, but instead from will and desire. Human magic was structured and less intrinsically tied a person, being more of a wellspring to draw and shape with tools, rather than a manifestation of will or wishes.

He was brought out of his reverie by Ven’fir scoffing at him, amused. “You. _You_ want to help people?”

Malavai rolled his eyes, and Ven’fir lopsided grin widened.

“No, why would I? Have they ever helped me? No, they just laugh like everyone else. I want to _learn_ , Ven. To discover. To push boundaries and usher in change and improvement. I want _power_.”

How nice, that he could admit that.

Ven’fir wasn’t a _good_ person, Malavai knew that, but perhaps Malavai wasn’t a good person either.

The fairy smiled, fond and grinning. His sharp teeth looked wicked in the fading sunset, and his eyes burned dark and sinful.

“You're a strange one, you know.” He murmured, pleased.

Malavai raised an eyebrow at him and got a cheeky smile for his trouble.

“It's a compliment, darling.”

“If you say so.” He murmured, letting his own smile through. “I know I can’t, though. I have no magical blood, and no way to learn anything. There are no books in the library with anything useful.”

There was a pause long enough for Malavai to look up to where Ven’fir was looking at him cautiously.

“...I could bring you some.” He offered, tone low. “We’ve finally exhausted the library, so perhaps more… drastic measures are needed. It’ll be tough, but I can get you books.”

Malavai was floored, and baffled.

“Why?” he demanded, and Ven’fir gave him a strange look.

“So you can learn?” he said slowly, like Malavai was being daft. The human huffed, mind spinning.

“That's not much good if I can’t cast anything.” He reminded, trying not to stoke hope.

Ven’fir was a strange one.

There seemed to be two sides to him, like night and day. Right now, he was night, his attention sharpening to a razor point and fixing on Malavai. He smiled, padding over and gently pulling the human up and into his arms. He pressed close, warm, heady, and intense.

“Do you remember what you said you would do to be free?” he murmured, and his voice was honey soaking velvet.

Malavai nodded, his hands coming to rest on Ven’fir’s waist. He was so _warm_.

“I said I would do anything.” He assured.

“Did you mean it?” The fairy asked softly, and his words felt like they poured into his ears. Something curled in his belly, and shadowy flames licked at his heart.

Malavai threw himself to them.

“Yes.” He breathed, and Ven’fir grinned. His mouth of razor-sharp teeth seemed so much more dangerous than when he was teasing Malavai or pressing kisses to his belly, and it made him lose his breath.

“Would you spill blood?” Ven’fir asked, incongruously gentle.

Malavai considered him, knowing the answer already.

“Whose?”

Ven’fir just grinned wider, and Malavai couldn’t help but smile with him.

* * *

“You’re good at this.”

Malavai smiled at his fairy lover as he finished the last of the runes on the circle.

It was a beautiful array, and he admired it for a moment before moving away.

“Thank you, I have a steady hand.” He murmured, and Ven’fir chuckled.

The fairy brushed taloned fingertips over Malavai’s cheek and bent his head to kiss him.

Both ignored the sounds of muffled screaming that filled the room, focused only on each other.

They broke apart, and Ven’fir looked at him with naked affection.

“Ready?” he breathed, and Malavai smiled, light and airy and giddy with expectation as he unsheathed his blade, now razor sharp, and let it catch the light.

“Of course.”

* * *

Malavai was busy for the next few days.

The court was in turmoil after the disappearance of Baras, the court wizard, and the king and queen had finally remembered he existed.

The body had been found in a ritual circle, and the consensus was that it had been a spell gone awry.

No one knew enough about magic to disagree.

Malavai smiled and reached for the power thrumming beneath his skin.

It hissed and spat and caressed his senses with every touch, and he revelled in it.

* * *

“I found somewhere.”

Malavai looked up from where he was playing with wisps of light. He tossed them between his hands and rolled them over his fingers as practice.

Ven’fir was standing in front of him, windswept and dishevelled and beaming. He had just flown in through the window, and Malavai warmed at the sight of him.

“Tell me.” He asked, snuffing out the lights he had been using for practice and pulling Ven’fir to the bed. The fairy went with a laugh, almost vibrating with excitement.

“An old watchtower tower, to the east. The forest is dangerous, and the tower needs work, but it’s isolated and perfect.”

Malavai felt himself lose his breath. Without the words to express his feelings, he surged forwards and kissed he fairy in his arms, who laughed and kissed him back.

“I’ll deal with the tower,” Ven’fir whispered, “You prepare here. We’re doing it, Malavai.” He breathed, eyes slight with excitement. “If anyone comes for you, we’ll _burn_ them.”

Malavai nodded, clinging to him as though he might slip away at any second.

* * *

Preparations were going as well as one could expect with the constraints that they were under. Ven’fir was dealing with the tower, and Malavai was missing him.

The old dread was creeping back in and he hadn’t missed it.

It was cold without him.

It was grey and gloomy and Malavai felt old habits worming their way back out into the open like fungus blooming out of dead wood.

He was irritable and snappish with anyone who came across him, and more than once his mother had reprimanded him for his temper.

He apologised with his head low, and let the titters wash over him.

Oh, he would love to see their fine silks burn.

They had been meticulously copying Baras old books, or rather Ven’fir had been. Fairy magic was more useful for less immediate concerns and more geared for longer term effects but making copies of objects wasn’t outside his purview. It was slow progress, sneaking in at night in his other form and copying one or two books before stashing them somewhere for Malavai to find later and sneaking back out again.

Still, they had time.

Or so Malavai had thought.

He had not been expecting the knock on his door, and he fumbled to stash the books and magical paraphernalia under his covers. Cursing in his head for being so careless, he straightened his appearance and opened the door.

To his surprise, it wasn’t a human that stood there.

His mothers fairy was at his door, expression stern and gaze penetrating. Her eyes were as green as grass, brighter than any human would have.

She peered at him, expression grim.

“My prince,” she addressed with a hint of disdain. She got that from his mother, he thought uncharitably. “There is an urgent matter that I must speak with you about.”

Wary, he nodded. Manners, Malavai. Manners, even when you wish you could rip those wings from her back and grind them to dust. Every mean comment, every scathing snap of words, every pointed stare and whisper into the queens’ ear was _remembered_.

“Of course.” He allowed graciously. “Please, do come in.”

She glided into his rooms; her dark, papery wings folded neatly behind her. Not for the first time, Malavai wondered what Ven’fir’s wings had looked like.

“How can I be of service, my lady?”

She cast a beady eye around her, and his stomach twisted with nerves. The knife was hidden at his belt, now etched with runes and sigils. He was good at those, he was finding.

It was thrilling.

“My prince, there have been some concerns about your behaviour of late.” The fairy said bluntly, and Malavai felt his blood run cold even as anger made his fingers twitch.

She clasped her hands in front of her, looking grave.

“I believe that there may be magic involved.”

He blinked, but she continued.

“Do not be alarmed, prince. Magic can be a frightening concept, I am aware.” She murmured. “But I will purge it from your mind. Have you spoke to anyone out of the ordinary, recently?”

He shook his head.

“No.”

She frowned.

“Touched anything strange? Noticed an object out of place?”

He shook his head again.

“No.”

The frown deepened.

“I shall examine you.” She said with finality, and he felt the air _writhe_.

Horror bloomed in his gut.

If she examined him now, if she allowed her magic to touch him, she would know. She would feel his stolen power.

“Don’t touch me,” he snapped, moving away. She scowled.

“Do not be _difficult_ , boy.” She muttered.

“I’m not under any compulsion,” Malavai insisted, desperate for her to leave. He could feel his magic singing under his skin, and it was hard to control. “And I don’t want you touching me.”

Her lips pulled back in a sneer and fast as a snake, her hand darted out and grabbed at his wrist.

As if watching from a few feet away, he felt her magic begin to invade his body, and terror welled up inside him like blood in a wound.

With a deafening bang, a ceramic jug on the table exploded, sending water spraying everywhere.

Malavai froze, and so did his adversary.

That had been _him_.

His stolen magic.

Her eyes were wide and for once, she wasn’t sneering at him.

Wasn’t whispering in an ear about him. Wasn’t ignoring him.

She was afraid.

She backed up a step towards the door, and Malavai darted towards her.

She couldn’t leave.

Not now.

Not when he was _so close_.

One hand caught around her fleshy wrist, and the other withdrew his athame from his belt.

It only took a moment.

Thew funny thing about ritual circles was that they could be drawn with _anything_ , provided one had the hands steady enough to do so.

Stone was nice and easy because it was easy to chisel and keep neat. In theory, one could draw the circle in ink or even sew it into a scrap of fabric as long as it were accurate.

Or, if one had a very steady hand, one could write it in blood.

Ven’fir tumbled through the window in a flurry of feathers, eyes wide as he took in the carnage.

“Malavai!” he called, rushing to his lovers side.

Malavai was standing before a crumpled form, moth wings ruined and thick with blood, clumped together and mangled.

He raised his eyes and met Ven’fir’s with a smile, bringing up a bloodstained hand to brush against his cheek, leaving sparkling blood in his wake.

“She was going to find out,” he breathed, needing Ven’fir to understand. “I had to kill her, but I didn’t want to waste her.”

Ven’fir was quiet for a moment, before he leaned in and rested his forehead against Malavai’s.

“I thought I’d lost you for a moment,” he breathed. “Did you drain her too? How?”

Malavai raised a bloody hand, his fingers slick with shimmering fae blood.

“I told you I have steady hands,” he murmured, a manic kind of energy fuelling his swirling emotions. He felt like the storm clouds gathering on the horizon, charged and powerful. It was an exhilarating feeling.

Ven’fir laughed, delighted. He kissed him, quick and happy.

“You’re amazing,” he breathed, yellow eyes bright.

Malavai swallowed, feeling his newfound power searing under his skin. He felt… full. Sated.

He wondered when he would start to feel hungry again.

“We need to leave, now.” He muttered. “They’ll notice soon, and we must be gone.” He stressed. “Ven, I _cannot_ let them keep me here.”

Ven’fir brushed his taloned fingers through Malavai’s hair, making a soothing noise.

“We will,” he assured. “Do you have everything you need?”

Malavai shook his head.

“Give me a few minutes. I didn’t expect to need to move this quickly,” he admitted.

Ven’fir peered at the corpse, and he sneered. “Good riddance.” he muttered.

Malavai packed quickly, thankful that Ven’fir had already procured the pack that he needed. Books, clothing and one or two small items went into it, and he was left standing in a half-ransacked room that had been his prison and his refuge for his whole life.

He wouldn’t sleep in his bed again, and he wouldn’t read in his favourite corner. He wouldn’t sit in his chair or watch the storms from his window.

He felt like he could fly.

He had what he needed.

He turned to Ven’fir and pulled him in for a kiss, needy and manic.

“Let’s go,” he breathed, needing it so badly it was like being cut open. He was so close. So awfully close to what he hadn’t dared dream of.

Ven’fir smiled at him, fond and wicked and everything Malavai wanted.

* * *

The tower was cold. It was half rotten and unstable and it was in the middle of thick, dark forest.

Malavai loved it.

Their descent from his tower had been nerve wracking even with Ven’fir there, but not even the fraught danger of running from the castle could dampen the wonder at being _out_.

He was out. Free. Done.

The air tasted different now, and he delighted in it.

They huddled for warmth in the tower, and Malavai finally saw what Ven’fir had been doing to the place. He hadn’t been able to do too much alone, but books and items and a few pieces of worn, sturdy looking furniture already graced the inside.

Malavai was a mess of feeling, and he couldn’t stop shaking. Ven’fir tugged him close, smiling.

Malavai held onto him like he was a lifeline.

“You didn’t leave,” he whispered. “You stayed.”

Ven’fir pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I said I would.”

Malavai just curled up in his arms and revelled in being free.

* * *

Months later, their tower was on the way to becoming a home. Well, Malavai already thought of it that way, but now it was a home that wasn’t going to collapse under them.

He _devoured_ the spellbooks they had liberated from Baras’ laboratory.

Magic was a terrible, joyful thing, and he submerged himself in the arts.

Ven’fir watched him, fond.

The story had spread from the castle of course, and they listened to a retelling of it when in a tavern, disguised with glamours and charms.

A wicked prince had betrayed the poor queen and king, having murdered the court wizard and the queen’s fairy godmother, and had fled into the night. The depraved prince hid in the woods as he consorted with all manner of dark fae and unnatural spirits, his terrible power only matched by his evil nature.

The queen had put a bounty on the head of their son, and adventurers were flocking from all over the land to try their hand at claiming the head of the wicked sorcerer prince.

Ven’fir, his arm around him and murmuring dark, sweet promises into his ear as they listened to the tale, chuckled and whispered something about good meal. Malavai had been feeling rather… peckish, lately. The fairy had been filling, but he wanted something _more_.

Under his hood and his spells, Malavai smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. We are done! This was a monster of a chapter, but I really enjoyed writing it. What a way to end Cloudbank! 
> 
> Thank you to all those who have followed the series, and there will be much more coming out soon. :)


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